


Chosen

by Commander (Guixi)



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action Scenes, Canon-Typical Character Deaths, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Existential Crisis, Gen, Gore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The Chosen are the most dysfunctional family in the known universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 219,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guixi/pseuds/Commander
Summary: Butcher. Wraithmaiden. Sister. All of them become synonymous to an incorruptible focus and a swift death that is the Chosen Assassin.





	1. Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned in Grim Horizon, this is indeed my newest project. This is set before the Commander has been released, but the story will follow through that and up until her death. Stay tuned!
> 
> Reuploaded from FF.Net from the "Guixi" pseudonym

_**RECEIVING** , ADVENT CHOSEN "HUNTER."_

_**RECEIVING,** ADVENT CHOSEN "WARLOCK."_

**_FILE 215903 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM ADVENT NETWORK INCURSION SUBJECT ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN"_ **

_**WARNING!** PERMISSION LEVEL "THETA" REQUIRED._

_**CLEARANCE CODE** "THETA_HUNTER" DENIED. FILE CANNOT BE ACCESSED IN THIS TIME OR MOMENT._

_**CLEARANCE CODE** "THETA_WARLOCK" DENIED. FILE CANNOT BE ACCESSED IN THIS TIME OR MOME_

**_SECURITY LOCKOUT OVERRIDE BY TWO TO ONE MAJORITY._ **

_**ACCESSING LOG FILE …** _

_[2029.04.15]_ Although the accelerated growth rate exhibited by subject ADVENT CHOSEN "Assassin" is on par with expectations for cloned individuals using current methodology, expectations for the readiness of her final form may be optimistic to say the least. While all efforts have been made under the current doctrine to avoid the intrinsic issue found in past subjects ADVENT CHOSEN "Hunter" and ADVENT CHOSEN "Warlock", the additional care required is inherently more time consuming than the previous developments.

If our highest priority is to instil an utmost respect for the Elders' authority, then we must put that before all other concerns.

_[2029.06.06]_ … she has so far performed beyond expectations in terms of the current doctrine's goal of respect and focus before all as evidenced by the pattern of brain activity –

* * *

_Click_. "I'm not sure **why** we need a baby sister."

"Evidently our masters are finding your skills lacking, brother. They are disappointed in you."

"Is _**that**_ so? Wonder what that says about you, considering I was Chosen as well. And now her. Let us team up. You subdue the priests and I'll cut off her head the second she drops out of the tank. We don't need this. We don't need _her_."

" _Restrain yourself_ , for once in your miserable life. If the Elders have saw fit to bless us with a sibling, we welcome her into this world with a loving embrace."

"Hmm. I can tell you're thinking about it, though."

"Silence."

* * *

_Our child.. can you hear Us?_

… Yes …

_You are to awaken soon .. You will be the instrument for Our will. You shall have no desire, no arrogance, only a duty to Us. You, among billions, are Chosen. You shall execute the unfaithful and the dissidents without consequence. You shall heed no law but Our word. You shall not fail Us._

… I shall not fail …

_You brother, the Elder, will guide you. Your brother, the Older, will test you. Yet you shall best them, for you are Our favourite. A creation made in Our likeness, you are the embodiment of Our perfection._

… I **will** not fail …

_Go, awaken now. In due time, this world shall be yours. This, We promise._

* * *

When the Assassin takes her first breath, it is not in the form of a wailing cry of an infant spending their first seconds in the world. She already knows five hundred different strategies on the field of battle. Innately, she can call upon the knowledge of blademasters and soldiers both alien and human. Her first independent thought is escaping the sceptic tank she is suspended in and correctly analysing the flaw in the material of the glass.

But she needn't bother, as the fluid drains slowly. Distant alarms cry around her, bathing the room in a red glow that bounced off scientists and the armoured figures of – Brothers. She understood, in a primal sort of way, that they were her brethren. The protective glass peels back, letting her fall forward. Unsupported by the liquid, the cables plugged into the sockets of her suit rip out. One by one, her weight pulls her free and she lands her first step in a perfected crouch.

She did not ask who she was nor where she was, for she already knew. The words of those celestial beings floated in her mind. _Jax-Mon Balladhur_. _Assassin_. _Wraithmaiden_. That is what they called her. And thus, so she would be known.

" .. subject is showing cognitive function, no signs of shock or disorientation. .."

The Assassin rises from her crouch. She does not need anyone to teach her how to walk. There were a set of finely crafted blades waiting for her, presented nicely on a stand and she smooths her finger across the flat of the dagger. Wielding both the short sword and it's longer cousin, she flourishes them in a test of weight – before sharply throwing the smaller at her older brother.

It sticks into the Darklance, pierced through the red generator of kinetic bolts, rendering it disabled. He reacted quick – either he die or his weapon take a hit and he chose the latter. She charges forth to her elder, long sword brandished, one arm out stretched defensively. She barely managed to cross the length of the room before a blast of psionic energy hit her square in the chest and pinned her to the floor.

"She's feisty, I'll give her that much." the older muses, gripping the dagger's hilt and yanking it out of his rifle. He inspects the damage done with a scowl, letting the masterful weapon of the Assassin clatter to the floor. The lance was slung to rest on his spine, pistol now drawn out of principal.

She writhes on the floor. The first instance of pain she felt. She knows it will not be the last. She knows it will be worse, should she fail. The Elder deems her punishment sated and the psionic shackles lift. Priests flock to her. One to her left. One to her right. Children of children. She accepts their outstretched hand of aid because if they are favoured, so she must too dote on them.

"We are not your enemy, sister." tells the Warlock. "The gods must be pleased at how eager you are to begin your service in their name. Come, greet your siblings. You are one of us, now."

The Assassin stands tall. The priests at her side barely come to her ribs and when she moves, the air itself carries each step. No noise. Not even a breath, or the rustle of fabric. She is spindly limbs and impossible flexibility, weaving through the reeds. She moves to her brothers not in battle, but in peace.

"Dhag-Il Vallinar." she greets her Elder. He has the decency to dip his head, however imperceptible. A semblance of genuine care. She knew he saw her as insignificant. She bore no threat to him and therefore was nothing. She will prove him wrong. She was the beloved child of the Elders. Not he.

"Dhag-Mai Madron." she greets her Older. He sneers, full of humanity's worst traits. She knows he does not want her. A brimming hatred for something that has only existed in the world for three minutes. She felt void, for him. She did not care.

"I will slaughter you both myself if you dare interrupt my work." She smiles, all teeth, no love. Empty. She pushes past their tense bodies to sweep down and collect her dagger, letting it slide back into the hidden compartment of her sword. Her purpose is as clear as the first breath she took. She is to assassinate those of ADVENT that grow too independent. Too self-aware. She would be their knife in the dark. The silent ushering into the darkness. The forever quiet.

"So I take that's a ' _no_ ' for family game's night then?" the Hunter bit. She does not see him align his pistol directly to her retreating form – the back of her head still adorned with the dreads of tangled wiring and tubing. She hears it in the wind, he's so loud, so annoyingly, obnoxiously grating and _loud_. The inaudible click of the Darkclaw's safety was like a thunderclap to her senses.

Her blade sung as it sliced through the air, deflecting the horrible crack of the Darkclaw's bolt. The Assassin decided that the look of affront the Hunter now wore was a greater pain than she could ever inflict physically. His aim was blessed by the Gods and yet she was the cause of his blunder. She neatly slips her sword back into it's sling. She does not insult him. She feels no desire to. She must go to the place of power that calls to her.

* * *

The Assassin looks at the sarcophagus. Her tomb of power. Pulsating with the very energies of her master. She bows her head in deep reverence towards it, imagining that They can see her. She is lulled into a security, amidst the hum of psionic, in her own personal sanctuary. She slides to sit, cross-legged, like a child in pre-school before it. But it holds greater purpose than mere childish obedience.

She is a lotus flower and she relaxes. Opens herself up to the powers. Let darkness wash over her vision as she exhales slowly. For as long as she remains loyal to Their cause, They would not let her perish. Even in failure, Their love for her is too strong. She knows this.

A disturbance.

"Who?" she demands, rising with blade drawn, body crouched like a wild cat ready to spring. She can see figures – troops. ADVENT soldiers, she believes they are. A mangled strand of alien-and-human genetics. No, _no_. A perfection of spliced DNA; harmonic. One is clad in red and caped with the decoration of an officer. A Priest, in similar garb though in white, by his side. It is the Officer that speaks first.

"Defence Captain Fiducia." He answers. Though reluctant, he follows the Priest's example by lowering to a kneel. The Assassin does not care for such respect towards her. She would have it earned on the field of battle than given merely because she is the child of Gods. " – We have been anticipating your arrival for many years, Chosen. Our masters have built this stronghold for you; and gifted us along with it to ensure it's security and safe keeping."

"It is your home away from home," the Priest confirms, soft-spoken, rising from her prostration. ".. and your base of operations. You may utilise this and _us_ how you wish."

"Neither of you are to come into this chamber again, not unless it is a swift death you seek." she warns, blade pointed at them both. She approaches and they are bred not to fear. Even if death was staring down at them, they stood, unless ordered otherwise. She felt more of a kinship with these soldiers than she did her blood-brothers. "If you wish to contact me, the.. Who are you?"

"Mystic Hecate."

"Mystic Hecate will call for me. You are capable of this, or do I need to poach a follower from my brother's flock?"

The choice of words did not deter the Priest. "What you wish, I will do."

"Acceptable." The Assassin sheaths her katana. When raised to her full height, they were more than easily dwarfed. Everything must look up to her. A deity. She would prove her status in battle soon. Although she did not see herself being much of a commander, she would do her best to order this small army at her disposal. She could feel every life force within her stronghold and sense their exact position with every beat of their heart.

"Chosen, if I may..?" The defence captain awaits until she nods before continuing. "Your secondary weapon and armour await you in your armoury and the sooner we are provided with a directive, the better. There are also some reports that must be addressed concerning rogue elements within ADVENT ranks."

The Assassin decides that she prefers these soldiers over her brothers after all. They were straight to the point, like her. No mincing words, or pointless sentiments.

"Your directive, as it stands, will continue to ensure the safety of this stronghold. You may exercise as much control that is required to perform this duty to the highest standard. You will act as base commander if I am unavailable." The Assassin strides on as she orders, too practical to stand around, issuing commands when she can make her way to the armoury as she does. The Officer and Priest follow her at her heels. "Mystic, you will be my eyes and ears. You will.."

XO. Why does that word float in her mind? She does not know a ' _Central.'_ the man. She knows a XO, the position – her face slips into concentration. That was not a thought of hers, but something that floated from the thousands of battles she gained her stratagems from. If the Elders have given her this, then she must find use for it.

".. be my XO." she finishes on. The Priest cocks her head, but will obey, nonetheless.

Jax-Mon wandered the hallowed halls of her stronghold like it was second nature – that she had traversed them a thousand times before. In her armoury stood every type of weapon humankind could think of, some of them dissected at various workbenches. She would foster her understanding of humanity's tech in this room. The MECs standing guard follow their handlers example of saluting her when she entered.

"Leave me to dress in peace." she says and they leave without question, as does Hecate and Fiducia. Now alone with blissful silence, where it was not broken by every thump of a heartbeat she could hear, or the draw and soft exhale of every breath, she appraises the armour on the stand.

The material was lightweight and fit like a second skin. It was built, like her, to be nothing more than it's purpose. No ceremonial ornaments were emblazoned on the plate aside from a single symbol of her rank – as Chosen. This, she found was acceptable and would not shear it off. The armour covered up the sockets of her speedsuit and every inch save for her face was protected. She notes the lack of a protective mask or any face guard as a flaw – and it irked her to no end.

The weapon stood out to her as an oddity. It looked like a younger sister to the Hunter's Darklance. Stockier barrel, wider shot. Less charge, but with more powerful kickback. It weighed exactly how it should for her build and would not slow her down in the slightest and as she turned it around, she saw paper string with a small tab attached. How.. utterly archaic.

_Arashi_ , it was named. She tugged the tab closer to inspect it; _'Sister; you will be the eye of the storm.'_

She ripped the tag off the weapon as it would only be damaged in a fight, but against her better nature she keeps the tag. No wonder it looked so similar to the Darklance – the Hunter built the weapon. _For_ her. The nothingness she felt towards him suddenly felt a lot more weightier than before, but ultimately nothing was – _**nothing**_.

Clad in her armour and now equipped, she flexes her fingers and feels the way the material ripples against her psionic-sensitive skin. She itches to fight, to kill. To fulfill the purpose of why she was created. She exited the armoury, destination intending towards the control room. Somewhere during her walk; Hecate rejoins her.

"Does the armour – " the Priest begins to ask, but is cut off by the Assassin.

"This, shotgun. Arashi. It was built by my brother, the older. He has access to my stronghold? My one sanctuary on this Earth and he may enter it as he wishes? I do not believe he merely dropped it off at the front gates, as it were."

Hecate does not answer immediately, lips pursed, but not too tersely, for her skin should not be blemished by wrinkles or laugh lines or anything that would stray from perfection. "He is Chosen." she answers. "We accommodate the Chosen's demands, be that you, the Hunter or the Warlock. You would be granted the same treatment should you wish to visit your brothers."

"Then I will update the directive of my soldiers. You are only to allow entry to those whom have my express permission."

"As you will."

A moment of silence. An exact ninety seconds, before the Assassin quietly adds; " … The quality of the armour is acceptable with only a single design flaw out of the possible six hundred and thirty three I could have found within the armour."

Were Hecate permitted to smile, she would have.

The control room was an offshoot within the stronghold, but by no means were it small. Surveillance monitors illuminated the room with a soft red, with a larger, global map presented in the centre. The system seemed to be self automated, as not a single soldier attended the stations. The Assassin watched the screens carefully, determining that some of them showed street views from security posts within the megacity centres. Others were checkpoints and train lines.

Her gaze was drawn to a red blip on the global screen. She interacted with it's interface with a thought and a passing gesture of her hand. Footage of somewhere just on the outskirts of a European megacity – bare headed ADVENT, a group of four. Her informed opinion of a single day of existence decided that they were trying to pillage supplies for themselves.

"Monitor this room," the Assassin told to her XO, letting her psionics wash over her and vanish her from sight, obscuring her energy to be nothing more than a breeze in the air.

* * *

Jax-Mon watched in fascination the humans interact.

Inwardly she chastised herself. How dare she, the Chosen of perfection, allow herself to get distracted? But.. how could she not? This race – these humans, were the subject of such inquiry and admiration from her masters. The very being she only knew as The Commander was entirely human and They adored them. Love. The Elders must see this as a weakness to make it so she could not feel such things, right?

Right?

The black-haired human, a man, had his arm around another of his species. This one was a woman with an enlarged belly that she seemed to support with one hand resting on it's bloat. No, not a bloating. Pregnancy. The Assassin slipped from her perch on the roofs and landed directly beside the married couple. They are unable to see nor sense her and she walked beside them, eavesdropping into their conversation.

".. and I'll call Jean-paul, let him know that I might be running late." the man's face draws pensively. "Are you sure you will be fine, Mari? Maybe I should take another day off."

"It's not like I'll be alone, Bób." the woman chides. "Look, there are peacekeepers everywhere and they are always happy to assist. I'm sure one will escort me home if I ask nice enough. Don't let yourself get tardy on my account.."

Jax-Mon leaves them to live their lives in a bubble, unaware of the justice she will reap soon enough. She sifts through the pedestrians and peacekeepers alike, not bumping elbows with a single one despite her pace and lanky limbs. A single leap has her land to the rooftops and she darts to the last known location of the freed ADVENT.

Her momentary distraction with the humans did not offer them much time away from their fate. They had ceased discussion on their plans, seemingly waiting for the supply train to arrive. There were explosives rigged to the rails and a few checkpoint guards lay dead and partially obscured in the brush. The Assassin crouches on a crate right behind the two bare-head troopers, with the left holding some sort of detonation device.

These were two. Where were the others? A quick sweep of the area proved they were deeper in the brush with the corpses. Likely lying in wait to shift the crates further into the forest. She walks, casually, to the explosives and inspects the wiring. Alien in nature – charges likely pilfered from the armoury they once reported to and rigged into more remote detonation rather than through satellite or psionics.

Like a scythe in a field full of briar's, she cuts through these sinful, profane degenerates that dare turn their back on the Elders, that dare besmirch Their gifts, Their embrace. The first one falls to her blade, slashed across his throat. Her psionic cloaking melts away and the second is only granted a second of surprise and alarm before her head is enveloped in the Assassin's arms – and neck swiftly snapped.

Jax-Mon soars through the air, flipping in marvelous, acrobatic feats, weaving out of gunfire of the third and fourth. _Arashi_ slips out of it's sling, as she predicts, into her left hand. Facing the last two as she lands, she shoots the darkfire spittle of kinetic shrapnel into the chest of the third. He is burnt and dying, but lives barely in a crumpled mess on the floor.

With each flourish of her katana she deflects the magnetic bolts of the fourths attempt to slay her. He is unsuccessful and she stands as a towering figure of death – no, as a judge. She judges him and finds him wanting. The sentence: death. His decapitated head rolls to join the fallen children of ADVENT.

The gurgled cries of the dying dissident proves that her work is not done. She steps towards the third and drives her blade into it's skull, finishing the job.

The Assassin returns to her stronghold as silently as she left it so that she may clean her blades and repeat the next day for however long her masters wish. For her first day of living, she finds the results acceptable – but not perfect.

She will do better.


	2. Saint Balladhur

"This is a waste of my time."

The Assassin did not feel embarrassment, yet she could not explain why she felt the need to curb her great height by slipping into a unnecessary battle-ready crouch. The ceiling was high enough to accompany her, but if she was to stand tall then her audience would be at her chest. Her eyes lingered on each piece of unknown equipment in this strange room – curiosity mixed with a need to simply understand and learn make for a particularly volatile mix. Stage lights and cameras, as well as technicians and much wiring snaking across the floor. A photo-shoot, of a kind.

"On the contrary," a man spoke, with blue-tinted glasses and data scrolling in a never-ending loop within the left lens. She knew him to be the Speaker; the (not so) human face to the alien logos of ADVENT. A figure of humanity's own for them to identify with, to associate. Humans are far from being elevated to a higher status if they must require such a person, the Assassin believes " – The world is ready to know that the Elders, blessed they be, have granted us with another of Their Chosen. Your face – your existence – ushers in a sense of peace for humanity. They will see and revere you as a child of the Gods, as it should be!"

"Having my face on display to every monitor capable of supporting your propaganda defeats the purpose of being an assassin. I am not supposed to be known to the mortal world."

"An assassin? No, no," he soothes, akin to one addressing a young child and Jax-Mon isn't sure either to cut his tongue first or sever his head. She does neither. "You are not regarded as such a thing. You are a _protector_ , a peacekeeper. They will see you as a guardian angel, forever watching over their lives as you do away with the reckless, sacrilegious terrorists. They will liken you to a Saint."

"Your brothers have already partook in this," Hecate informs the Assassin quietly. It seemed like part of the job as her XO was to follow the Chosen everywhere she went that did not involve a mission. Naturally, the Priest would never complain, but she had not been out of the stronghold since she was ordered to wait there and it was difficult not to have her trepidation show. This wasn't routine for her.

That got Jax-Mon's attention. " – They have? Show me."

The Speaker gestures to the large preview screen mounted on the centre, to which the recorded broadcast loads. He hides his surprise well as the Assassin hisses at the sight of her brethren on screen, staring back down at them impassively with the Elders' likeness behind them, as if presenting Their children to the world.

To the Assassin, she found this false. She was the favoured child. _**She**_ was Their perfection. The Elders would never be proud of the two brothers; after all, why would she have been made if They were happy? Better question, where did They find the time to have this photo taken in the first place?

Seeing the confusion on the Assassin's face, the Speaker deterred her attention away; "Ingenious, isn't it? The Elders have granted us a single image of Their likeness, so that we may create these masterful pieces. All we need is one picture and you will be free to leave."

"Doctored," demurred Jax-Mon. That soothes her. Of course. She hands Hecate her shotgun and katana before moving into the shoot, slipping down to a full resting squat, making it easier to be in frame. The lights dimmed, enshrouding the room with a soft glow illuminated from the dimmed monitors and the pinks of her psi-infused eyes. The room brightens when the image is captured and she can see herself in place of her brothers, backed by the praise of the Elders.

Jax-Mon drifts back towards Hecate, accepting her returned weaponry. "What do you think?"

"It is not my place to think, Chosen." she says. "Only to serve."

" – My XO should have the capacity to think, and quickly. To form.. suggestions, that I may deliberate over, or commentary for me to respond to." That wasn't _quite_ what XO, the man's, job had him do. She delved a little deeper into those thoughts, though no name other than _Central_ arose. An important enough figure that it stayed relevant within the transfer of the Commander's battle strategies. Perhaps she should research further into it, once her eternal task of cleaning away the traitorous scum has ended.

"In that case," the Priest simpers, "They have indubitably got your best side."

The Assassin smirks.

* * *

Breathe in … Breathe out …

She is a lotus flower. Her body is aligned with the Earth; her chakras open. With every inhale, life flows into her and upon every exhale, she purges the unclean within. Her mind slips into a state of tranquil bliss; transported beyond the confines of thought. She watches, like a third person in her own mindscape, the battles of first invasion and the simulations the Elders tested this Commander with. They were competent, but not perfection. Why would the Elders adore someone so inherently flawed – so unpredictable?

So.. _human_?

She sees the tactical blunders. She sees the fake soldiers die – and the echoes of grief and pained determination this human connected to their vast network felt. The simulated funerals of soldiers that existed in their memory. Yet still, they were considered integral. Necessary. _**Faultless**_.

If she was to reach what They aspired her to be, she must study these humans further. She must learn and grow. She was not perfection, but instead: wet clay. She will shape herself better and understand. There was no other way – humans were so.. malleable. It became as no shock to her now why They were so interested; so in love.

Breathe in … Breathe out …

Jax-Mon hangs in the air with delicate balance; a tightrope walker crossing without a pole to support. Her focus was absolute and her senses keen. The _home away from home_ , as Hecate called it, was an adequate description to this inner chamber of hers. A place of security for her to be lulled by her masters' powers and let herself be rejuvenated –

Her lips twitch imperceptibly as she hears the mechanisms click and hum gently within the Darklance's laser targeting system. She was brought back to the ground with her mind snapping back to the present of the Hunter lining up a shot to take at her. Her eyes open to pin him with a glare, only to find herself staring down at the end of the muzzle.

" – Did I break your concentration?" he asks innocently, tone all but mocking in it's fake, friendly cadence. "You left the door open. Tut, tut, baby sister. Who knows what sort of _monster_ could walk in and.. _**hurt**_ you _._ "

Her legs unfurl from under her and she slapped his weapon down so it was no longer pointing at her heart – and more importantly, away from her sarcophagus. "I promised all who enter here a swift death. That will include you if you do not leave, _brother_." she spits the word and forsakes proper address seeing as he was so intent on calling her a child.

"You're worried that I will destroy your coffin." he guesses. Jax-Mon's lips peeled back in a snarl, which more than confirms it for him that he was correct in such an assumption. " – I would never do such a thing! I'm hurt, truly, that you'd think I'd intentionally kill my lil' sis. I mean, what sort of brother would I be if I did that? Not a very _good_ one, that's for sure."

"If you will not leave by choice, then I will make you!"

She shot out to tackle him to the ground and they both crashed to the floor in a tangle of struggling limbs and bared, fanged teeth. The Hunter, always one step ahead, predicted her intent before she had it in the first place, placing the sole of his boot on her stomach and using her momentum against her, tossing her behind him. Like a cat, her spine bends and twists her body to land on her feet, skidding a few inches away.

The Assassin diverts her sprint to the side, narrowly avoiding the bolt of his Darkclaw only by the fact she heard it power up, rather than a failure of the Hunter's aim. He seemed quite alive – enjoying the skirmish a lot more than he should. A challenge, after all, has presented itself and he was missing. Him. _Missing_!

She goes for a sweeping strike with her short sword – forced to instead parry a shot before it pierced through her neck. Keeping herself low and agile, she tries to find the most opportune moment to strike. The Hunter changes his plan of attack, instead flipping sides and propelling himself forward – and behind her with his grapple. Flanking shot!

He shoots before she has time to right herself to parry and the kinetic bolt lodges itself into her dominant arm. She cries out in pain, swapping her weapon hands and flourishing the blade to barely deflect another round. Calling upon her psionics, she melts into the wind.

The Hunter stalls. No movement. No sound. No Assassin.

He stalks closer towards the centre of the chamber; alert eyes sweeping every corner, trying to trace her signature. "Oh, my dear little sister, I pull cowardly dimensional rats like you out of the darkest corners of this world – there is no place you can hide from _me_."

Which is why she escaped his sight by hiding nearly on top of him, mimicking his movements like a perfect shadow, masking her energy signature from sight by sneaking it under his own overpowering one. Or so she thought.

Just as Jax-Mon was about to reach for the Darkclaw, he twisted around and pistol-whipped her across the face. The adornments on the butt of the handgun slashed, leaving twin lacerations across her mouth and upper lip. Staggering back, she had little time to recover as the Hunter's boot swiftly kicked her in the gut and forced her down to the ground.

"Bang." he flippantly jeered, letting the muzzle rest on her forehead. "You're dead."

He was given a hard glare for his troubles. His foot slips off her chest plate and his free hand extends. She takes it and he helps her to her feet. The Hunter waves his pistol like one might wag a finger as he tuts; "Good try. But not good enough. Try not being so predictable, you may have a chance of actually _winning_ , then."

"So, this was a test?" she doubts his intent and rightly so. "You disrupted my peace, my sanctity, to test me?"

"You never know when the enemy might strike." He grins, slipping his gun back into it's holster. "They are hardly going to announce their presence like I had done. With a little more awareness, you could've stopped me at the foot of the gate rather than at the steps of your sarcophagus."

"You should not have been allowed entry in the first place."

Dhag-Mai straightens. " – Ah, yes. The Priest. She put up an admirable defense, but in the end she was in my way. So I took care of it."

"You _killed_ her?!"

"I tried to. But, like all Priests, she can put herself in stasis when inflicted with a life-threatening hit. Luckily for me, that means I do not have to endure another lecture from my brother or the Elders about the Priest's importance. You've got a smart soldier in her." He pauses, tilting his head. "Maybe I'll poach her for my stronghold. Could always use someone with half a brain."

Jax-Mon hisses and shoved his shoulder. He throws up his hands in a placating gesture before they slackened by his sides. He understands that he was no longer welcome and more than done enough to sour her mood and ruin her meditation session. Which made that, all in all, a good day for him.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault." the Assassin winces as the Priest continues to dab away the splatter of blood left by the Hunter's strike. She had since regenerated, thanks to Hecate's skill in restoration, but still her orange blood stained her skin. She fared better than the XO, in any case, whose white armour around her heart was scorched black by the Darklance's bolt. "I should not have underestimated my brother. A single Priest cannot stop a Chosen."

"I failed your directive. I await whatever punishment that you deem necessary."

An agitated sigh left Jax-Mon, but not entirely because of her. She sprung to her feet, before rising steadily. The Priest remained prostrate on her knees, head and heavy, restrictive helmet bowed.

"We must study." Jax-Mon declares. "You will learn what you can of my brother beyond that of what I was activated with and I shall train to become better. We cannot let ourselves be outsmarted – outplayed by these wretched fools."

The Assassin gently nudges her hand underneath the Priest's chin and lifts up her dipped head. "No more of that. I am not my elder and I seek no such respect unless it is deserved. Your punishment shall be to keep that in mind."

Hecate's lips twitch, but she does not smile. It bleeds into her soft-spoken tone instead. "As you will, Chosen."

* * *

It seems she was not the only one who did not take to these faithless abominations kindly.

Shrouded in shadows, embraced by loving dark, the Assassin watched patiently as the mask-clad male sifts through the snow laden ground. He moved as if he too, was born of void. But she can see the light; the warmth with every thud of heartbeat that rang so soundly in her ears. Fingerless gloves of cotton let his digits be nipped by the frost, biting his skin red. Why wear such worn and degrading armour in extreme conditions...?

 _It strengthens him_ , she thinks with a realization. He hones his body, conditions it to do better by exposing himself to the elements. _I will incorporate this into my training._

She follows like a cloud, her footsteps too light to make even a touching imprint on the five inch snow. The male stops as the hill steepens down and she spots what he can see; a trio of freed ADVENT in fur lined armour, talking among themselves. One bears a tattered cape of his once high rank. Even Officers are able to defy Them.. ? The situation was more dire than she was lead to believe. She must do more research. Clearly, this was more than a mere few lambs straying from the flock.

The masked man lowers to lay on the frozen ground underneath the layers of snow. From down below, only the pinpoint tip of the rifle poked out the cover of white and high-ground. Shivering hands reach for a claymore on his belt, pressing it active with his thumb and tossing it. The mine sticks to the back of the traitor's cape, the owner unaware.

The rifle pops near silent; though the accompanying explosion was deafening. Jax-Mon clutched at her head, sucking in a sharp breath as white noise screamed in her all too sensitive ear-drums.

Three stood, now three dead, with only fire, scorched remains and a felled tree.

" – Final to Outrider. Pod one reaped." He spoke quietly into some hidden two-way radio, standing up and dusting off the snow from his plated armour. Jax-Mon calculated this to be a mistake. Consequence seemed to agree with her assumption, for a grapnel shot forth from the smoking fire and pierced into the man's leg. He let out a scream as the hooks pinned into the flesh of his groin and he was dragged from his perch into the Hells below.

She soundlessly jumped from the steep hill to get a better look.

Another like the officer stood in his fur-lined power armour, but this time, he wore a helmet. Full covering, unlike those that ADVENT typically issue. She could not spot any hazardous or harmful substances that would require a full mask. Clearly rogue. A weapon she known only as a ' _ripjack_ ' was pierced upwards through the masked man's chin. Two bare-headed troopers flank this mysterious captain and once the body stopped it's spasmodic throes of death, he kicked the corpse off his weapon and wiped the blades clean.

Efficiently executed. A shame she will have to kill them all.

As she approaches – she pauses as the captain's companion speaks. "Captain, our orders were _clear_."

The captain grunts. "Three of our brethren lay dead before you, sister. Four yesterday. Six, the day before. They are _actively hunting us_. This is the only language these – these Reapers speak. They act like they cannot tell the difference between us and our imprisoned siblings."

"Death will only beget death if you do not temper your fury, brother." the trooper insisted. "Betos did not accept you just so you can repeat the mistakes of your imprisonment."

He snarls, spitting a curse in their shared language, but ultimately does not comment. Instead, he straightens. "We must leave and warn Gamma. Outrider will not strike if we merge our squads. I am starting to pick up on her patterns. Come."

By the time the Captain realized only one of his two troopers were following, it was too late. He looked behind him to find only the grisly scene. No sight nor sound of his sibling. For once, he felt a primal fear for something he is not entirely certain of and prays he does not ever find out.

* * *

Jax-Mon learned that indeed, it was more than just a few stray dogs that needed to be put down. An entire faction full of impious traitors that required her judgement. Lead by one they see as a war hero. Betos. The ADVENT Network still has archived files on such a name, where only her rank and higher may access them. She was the first of the freed. Far before the Assassin's time – before Jax-Mon was barely a blueprint in Their design.

She calls her band of godless scum the Skirmishers. They were at war with the Reapers, as when they were ADVENT, they slaughtered thousands. Through the trooper she extracted information from, she learns that the captain's name was Pratal Mox. Another file under lock and key within the Network.

The Assassin delved deeper. _What were your patrol's intention?_

… The patrol was split into three groups, callsigned Alpha, Beta, Gamma. She was of group Alpha. The team that the Reaper blew up were Beta. Not what she asked for. She probed harder, pouring more psionic energy into the mind meld. … Four hundred yards away from the ADVENT facility. They were going to.. going to..

Jax-Mon shirked as feedback snapped across her mind as the trooper died, unable to survive the intense pressure of the Chosen's power. The Assassin bemoaned, cradling her own head as the power gifted to her by Gods burnt her thoughts. Keeping her arms close to herself, she curls up, riding out the waves of the searing pain, staring despondently ahead until she recovered, thanks to her body's unnatural speed of healing. She must temper her psionic strength.

She must learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. lore changes. That's probably highly apparent. It's stated in the lore documents that the Assassin was created to deal with the threat of Betos and the Skirmishers the moment she broke free of their control. Betos herself even remarks that her earliest, independent memory was the Assassin in hot pursuit. But for the purposes of this story, the Skirmishers have already been established as a faction and the Assassin's purpose wasn't entirely just to hunt them down. It'll be revealed why I think the Elders wanted to create a Chosen rather than ascend a human like they've done with the brothers.
> 
> The only thing that's important to keep in mind is that, well, the Elders already had an assassin in a way. The Hunter. For the context of this story, it was actually his task to hunt the Skirmishers, or any creature that defied the Elders' rule, but.. well, the Elders' patience is legendary, but not limitless.


	3. Hubris

The Warlock's stronghold seemed to be an exact copy of her own.

The rooms served the same functions with little variety other than some personal touches the Elder had saw fit to place; such as banners of his insignia and a more than notable increase of Priests over regular troopers. Hecate, surprisingly, had tried to suppress a quiet anxiety about traveling to such a place. But the Assassin could smell such fear and tension and made a note to inquire about it at a later date. After all, what Priest would not wish to step foot inside such a magnificent temple? In any case, she allowed the Priest to remain at her own base.

Jax-Mon kept her stride purposeful, ignoring the respect proffered to her by her brother's followers. It was annoying in her own keep and especially irritating here. She had not proven herself to these zealots, yet they more than happily saw her as a holy warrior. It was nothing more than a breeding ground for ego and arrogance that she wanted no part in.

Finding her brother was easy. His psi-signature was an overbearing presence that would force even the most hardy of tempered wills to bow. Thankfully, she was immune to such mental suggestions and would remain proud when facing him.

"Sister," the Warlock addresses the second she stepped foot in his chamber. Much like he; she had a signature that could be read a mile away. She certainly hadn't given herself away through sound, for her steps were too light and breathing too controlled. His closed eyes opened; burning bright like purple fires, like his veins that criss-crossed exposed biceps. " – To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He gestures to the meditation mat opposite him and she obeys, slipping down to her preferred lotus position.

"I wish to learn, brother." She does not see it as a weakness to ask. She feels nothingness; and in that void she can sense how forceful and irrefutable her elder brother's emotions were. Disgusting. She makes no mention of it as she continues without pause. "I am not blessed with a mastery of my psionic connection. I overloaded a prisoner of mine that I attempted to extract information from – and I can hardly probe a _corpse_."

"How.. unfortunate." He knew the feedback she must have endured from the sudden severing between her mind and the prisoner's, but if he offered sympathy; it was lost within his sardonic tone. "Nevertheless, you should have a Priest within your ranks, do you not? I hand-picked her especially from my flock. For feeble minded creatures; consider using her to extract the information for you."

If Jax-Mon possessed eyebrows, they would furrow angrily. "That is not what I asked. I should be perfectly capable – "

"If you _should_ be, then I fail to see why you need to learn..? Were you not created to be Their perfect vision? Yet you enter my temple, claiming that you require _my_ aid."

The Assassin drew a calming breath, then exhaled, matching her brother's eyes with a hard stare that could form diamonds. Now she understood why he was being so facetious, what he wanted her to do. He wanted her to announce her imperfection; her flawed being, which ultimately would elevate him in stature. Proven that he still remained as the Elder's true child, not her. Had she pride, it would snarl at the prospect, but her task needed her to grow in order for it to be completed.

Her blade whispered in the air as it was unleashed from it's prison, the point slamming just at the front of the meditation mat. She rolled to the balls of her feet, now instead of sitting as his equal, she knelt subservient. "Brother, _**please**_. There is still much for me to learn.. to understand and I want only to make our Elders proud. Would you truly deny your adjuring sister? They have told me that you are my guide. My _better_."

With each heavy footfall of his boots, her grip on her katana tightened. _It would be so easy to drive this blade through his neck …_

His clawed gauntlet came into view, gesturing for her to rise now that his dominance had been established, face twisted into a tart, haughty grin. She obediently rises. "Then I shall teach you how to control your psionics, sister. Come, let us proceed."

* * *

"You were apart of my brother's followers?"

Hecate's fingers pause over the data pad she was monitoring, head canting towards the sound of the Assassin's voice. Once again she found herself delaying to answer until deciding on a neutral tone; "I was.."

"But not any more."

"No." She did not expand further and she could sense Jax-Mon's vexation at the candid nature of her responses. She settles the pad down on the desk, moving away from the station she was tasked to monitor on her behest and offers the Chosen her full attention. "Your brother ... _selected_ ... me to be apart of the team that would work with you upon your arrival in this world at our masters' request."

Jax-Mon stalked closer, suspicion clear in magenta eyes. She towered over the Priest, lip curled back in a sneer. "To spy on me?"

Hecate's voice remained the same dulcet cadence as it always did. "To be rid of _me_. No reason will stand with the Elders to kill a Priest, not even a Chosen's immunity grants you reason. But he _**can**_ disgrace me and send me away."

That drastically changed the Assassin's course. Confusion twisted her features. " - You perform all of your duties to an acceptable standard. What about you is so offensive that you would be expunged from his sacred temple?"

Instead of the answer she sought, she was given something else; " – Defence Captain Fiducia wishes to speak with you in the Armoury and sparring ring, Chosen. The.. _ripjack_ , as he calls it, has recently been fabricated. In addition to a working grapple system as per your description of it."

Jax-Mon leant forward; warning her before she left; "We _will_ continue this conversation."

* * *

"I reviewed the field footage that you captured, Chosen. Their arsenal employs non-standard ADVENT inventory with an emphasis on close quarter combat, although unlike our own melee combatants, they intend to kill rather than incapacitate." Fiducia begins his presentation once she enters, not one to idle any more than he had to. He directs her attention to the workbench he set up.

"All Skirmishers, as they call themselves, prefer to use a bullpup, one that utilizes a twenty-by-forty millimeter cartridge." He gestures to the dismantled one for her to study and she picks at the various mechanisms of the magnetic example. He lifts a replica, handling it as if he had done so his entire life.

"The main benefit is it's length and maneuverability, though given it's flexibility for modification, it's drawbacks can be tweaked away. While you should not expected highly accurate shots: prepare for a hail of projectiles."

He clears his throat, gaining her attention as he gestures to the grappling system mounted on the plate of his gauntlet. "The Skirmishers have also perfected an art of combat with the grapple. They have exchanged the grapnel for something more bullet-shaped – able to pierce through even the most durable of alloys to pull the victim to them or pull _themselves_ to the the victim. They can also overload the wire to send a devastating electrical shock."

"Close-quarter specialists.." she muses with a fanged grin showing through her usual neutrality. "A fitting opponent for a warrior such as myself. It is no wonder I was made for the purpose of fighting them. Do you spar, captain? I would like to get acquainted with the Skirmisher's tricks of the trade so that I may prepare against them."

"If sparring is what you will of me, I would be honoured to be your partner, Chosen."

Jax-Mon traded her katana for a practice sword, as much as she preferred to have a spar be as close to actual combat, one strike from her blade would cut to kill. Likewise, Fiducia traded the cartridge for blank rounds. They both entered the ring, the captain slipping under the ropes as the Assassin merely maneuvered over them. She circled around his still, tense form, sword pointed; steps impossibly light.

He fires and the bullpup kicks in series of three; _brat-tat-tat!_ Each blank deflected with her expert exhibit of swordsmanship, advancing closer on the defense so that she may seize the attack. But, much like her brother, the Hunter, he tried to utilized his grapple to flank around her charge. Jax-Mon would not fall for something twice, so as the bullet-shaped hook soared, she caught it by the grapnel and yanked him off-kilter.

Fiducia stumbled as the system continued to propel him forward, but now his knees crashed across the sparring mat, losing traction and stopped him dead at her feet. She let go of the grapnel and it snapped back into it's compartment. Practice blade brandishing, she twists it around and drives it downwards. She expects him to simply roll away, but subverts her by instead riposting with the ripjack, knocking her grip looses intending to disarm her.

For someone sparring in full plate, he was surprisingly limber, but could not compare to her. She smacks his head down with the pommel of the sword, disorientating him just long enough for her to grab him by the cape and toss him forward, slamming her boot square on the ADVENT emblem on his chest. She points the tip of the practice sword at his forehead. " – Dead."

"Would I be?" he questions, demonstrating by tapping the claws of the ripjack on the in-seam of her suited leg. " – Ripjacks can pierce through alloy and though your armour is durable, it was designed for agility than defense. Were this a real battle, I would not hesitate to strike."

"You would not even realize you were dead were this to be a real battle!" She frowns. Petulance … No, this was not her. Perhaps it was time to step away from her older brother's influence. She slips her foot off Fiducia's chest and yanks him back to his feet, much to his off-balanced protest. Backing towards the furthest corner, she barked; "Again!"

They sparred for what must have been hours. The majority of the matches, the Assassin indubitably won, though the few times Fiducia attempted a tactic she had yet to see, it threw her off track and earned him a few solid matches. Tactics that were never repeatable, for Jax-Mon only required to see it once to learn and adapt from it. She recognized some of the moves he pulled as unconventional orders on the human Commander's behalf – strange commands that had netted their XCOM fake victories over the alien forces – and made note to recreate them for her own benefit.

Hecate arrived to spectate after the third hour. Jax-Mon was tailored to have enhanced endurance and stamina and could run a planet-wide marathon without tiring her muscles, but the same could not be said for her partner. The Priest sounded vaguely amused when she commented; " – Ah yes, the strategy of wearing your opponent out from utter exertion. Masterfully executed, Chosen."

Indeed, Fiducia had been rather sloppy in that particular match. Being made of considerably more human genetics than she, he could never hold a candle to the physical prowess she possessed. The Assassin barely even had to move to avoid his weakened strike and a mere firm push from her sword sent him spiralling to the mat.

"... I believe we have done all that we can today." she announced and she was fairly sure he made a sound akin to muffled relief. "Hecate?"

"Yes, Chosen." the Priest murmured, understanding her order before she even had to say it. She wandered to the sparring ring, tugging the ropes upwards and assisting Fiducia down. He drapes an arm around her shoulders to support himself whilst she slips her own around his waist, her free hand steadying. Jax-Mon watches, head tilted, stricken with the comparison of the human couple she had saw on her first excursion out of the stronghold.

* * *

"... Lucretia has still not been found? I do not believe this is a kidnapping on behalf of the Reapers, Mox. Stealthy as they may be, you would be admitting to them stealing her right under your and her squadmate's nose." The static voice of Betos tempers in and out on the unstable video feed, the image distorting at various places, or jerkily cutting out all together, but the sound remained somewhat in-sync. "Additionally, it is not in their tactics. They have made it abundantly clear they much prefer to kill than waste time and resources into elaborate captures."

"Then they are adapting," snarls the veteran, his anger for vengeance outpaced by the grief and worry he felt for his still missing soldier. "As you say, they care only for their kill-count, and what better way than to lure a squad right to whatever death trap they set by promise of returning our own!"

"If only you could turn such _active imagination_ into battle tactics, she might have been found already." chews his commander in a rare bite of scathing tone that often went unused for him. He shirks back a little. "I will not listen to your conspiracy theory that the Reapers are kidnapping my soldiers. The threat may be closer to home than you are willing to look: you were, after all, close to the facility. We are trying to pave peace and until tensions with them settle, we cannot achieve that."

"Your vision is admirable, Commander, but they only speak in violence and death. They will never settle until every one of our kind is dead, be it ADVENT or Skirmisher."

"Do you think this conflict has been one-sided, Mox? We endure our burdens everyday. They have a right to want justice and their vision is no less clouded with anger and grief as yours is for our missing sister." The flickering image of Betos stalls and cuts out entirely, leaving only the audio. " – You have your orders, Captain. See to it that it does not involve _**another**_ dead Reaper at your hands."

Pratal Mox nearly snaps the data pad in two. He recalls how his temper and unnatural anger had earned him a deadly reputation as one of ADVENT's most heinous field generals. Whose bloodthirst and brutality was second only to the Chosen Hunter's. That thought drains the fury out of him and he settles the unharmed, still functional pad back into his knapsack. He truly did admire Betos and her unwavering bastion for peace, even as enemies all around her were determined to tear her down.

But he had his orders. Thankfully a simple mission: accepting more freed kin from the clutches of ADVENT. Betos herself usually handled the introductions, but with her hands full, she extended the diplomacy to _him_ of all people. He would not squander her faith in him, even if he does not see himself in the same light she is able to.

His hands plant on either side of his full-covering helmet, easing it off and clipping it to his belt – and catching sight of his blurry reflection on a shard of glass. Even after two years since Betos accepted him, the gorges across his jaw that kept the ADVENT helmet firmly in place still had not healed. That was always the hard part: weathering the pain of removing the drilled-in components.

Mox gestures to his waiting squad talking among themselves to flank him and they obey, following similarly with removing their masks or helmets. To ease these newcomers' idea about it. The meeting place that he had chosen was a secluded ramshackle area that was marked for redevelopment into some extension of the mega-city. The human settlers that showed promise of loyalty had been reallocated and the rest – exterminated, leaving only a barren area for now.

Betos had expressed that they will greet them with peace, but Mox always prepared for the worst. In the case that ADVENT were growing more aware of their plans, that they were setting up these fake meetings in order to lure out Skirmishers to kill. His bullpup may be holstered, but his ripjack and grapple were ready.

An hour passes standing in the dusty, abandoned town and he grows weary. An additional ten passes, making them late.

He spots the garish red of an Officer's armour appearing through the sand first, before the figures emerged. A trio, one Officer, two Stun Lancers. Even though the pod had plenty of time to shoot them, they did not. He relaxes a margin. They stop before him, dropping their ADVENT weapons in peace.

"Well then? Are you Elder puppets or freed men?" Mox resisted the urge to wince at his tone. It was beyond him why Betos believed he would make for a great diplomat. Nevertheless, the trio made no comment of it and moved to discard their helmets or visors in unison.

Right in front of his eyes, the world crumpled before him. The Officer made a strangled cry as orange blood spurted out of the wound in his gut, a katana made of material he has never seen before sticking out of it. Mox and his men jumped to action, bullpups drawn and searching frantically for the threat. But as the Officer dropped to the floor, dead, nothing was present but the sandy wind.

"What – " one of the soldiers under his command questioned, only for his speech to be replaced with sputtered gurgling, throat slashed. He clawed at the injury before falling to his knees and then prone in a collecting pool of his own meld-infused blood. There! Mox saw it, the psionic camouflage falling as the wind whipped and sand stuck to.. _it_.

It _**might**_ have been beautiful, had it not been for the twisted, misshapen features of human physiology mangled by alien genetics in a way that was clearly more alien than it was human. It was unlike any creature Mox had ever seen, fought or worked with before. Not Sectoid. Certainly not Archon, or Muton, or – and then it struck him, when it's head turned to appraise him with the most intense pink-purple eyes.

He shot first.

It merely jumped in a bounding leap, dodging his fairly accurate bursts of gunfire with impossible reflexes and even more mind-boggling flexibility. He struggled to keep track of it's acrobatics, for it managed to weave out of his squad's and the newly freed kin's saturated fire like nothing. He was sure it would be able to dodge raindrops on a heavy downpour.

It's hands planted on the shoulders of a Stun Lancer, flipping around and gathering his arm's to subdue him. Mox felt sick to his stomach as his bullpup already kicked and now his bullets were embedded into lancer's chest, killing him. It discards the corpse and flourishes that alien blade to deflect.

"Go!" He orders, "We cannot fight a threat we do not understand – leave!"

"Traitors.." it hisses, voice scratchy and a pale imitation of femininity. ".. and now _cowardly_. Fight me like the true warriors you claim to be! I long for a battle to prove my worth!"

They did not raise to it's – Mox guessed it was supposed to be a ' _her_ ', – bait, obeying his order and dashing back towards they had came. But she was not about to let them live, not now. Not after seeing her. The Skirmisher captain releases his grapnel towards her, hoping to provide enough distraction for his squad to make it out, but she seemed to expect that. Like she knew how he fought. A mere deflect from her katana sent it back into his wrist launcher.

She drove her katana into the ground and he did not need to have the Gift to feel the raw psionic energy that gathered at the tip, drawing from the very Earth itself. He could not do anything for his fellow squad, merely use his grapple to propel himself away from the path of the psionic wave that furiously washed over the retreating forms of his troops. They fell, one by one, crippled and overloaded with the intensity of her power. The very air crackled with the lingering energy; like a thunderstorm brewing on the horizon.

"What.. are you!?" cried Mox, bearing witness to this. He did not wish to leave any of his kin behind, but trying to carry them out one by one whilst this.. alien assassin lurked would be impossible.

She tilts her head, plucking her katana out of the dirt and wiping it clean on her thigh. With a twist of her wrist she brandishes it and approaches him slowly. Her eyes were alive – glowing with the power of her attack, but distracted. Enough that she did not hear him reach for his grenade as she contemplated his question.

" – A guardian angel." she echoes something he isn't privy to. "A Saint."

He lobbed the grenade at the last second, barely giving her time to react as it exploded at her feet. Her caterwaul of a pained screech would haunt his nightmares, but for now he focused on escaping with his life, unaware of the weakness he just discovered.


	4. Honour

_**RECEIVING** , PRIEST_ACW-CARDINAL_HECATE._

_**REQUEST TRANSFER OF COMMAND; TO:** ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN"_

_**AWAITING** : ADVENT CHOSEN "WARLOCK" APPROVAL._

_**REQUEST TRANSFER OF COMMAND; RETURN:** DENIED._

_**RECEIVING,** PRIEST_ACW-CARDINAL_HECATE._

**_FILE 215903 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM ADVENT NETWORK INCURSION SUBJECT ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN"_ **

_**WARNING** : PERMISSION LEVEL "THETA" REQUIRED._

**_CLEARANCE CODE_ ** _"THETA_ASSASSIN" DENIED. INVALID OR UNKNOWN CODE._

**_CLEARANCE CODE_ ** _"THETA_WARLOCK" ACCEPTED._

**_ACCESSING FILE …_ **

**_SUB-DIRECTIVE OF ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN" FILE 215904: "DEBUG LOG-ACA-215991."_ **

_[2029.08.11] "_ As the Elders' eagerness to release subject "Assassin" into the world mounts, I fear I see a steady decline in the refinement processes with the sub-doctrines unrelated to the incorruptible focus engineered to ensure her complete and total obedience. I have little doubts now that the subject will perform admirably in the field, perhaps as the Elders' intended, but there are strings of genes, mainly from the Their DNA mutating the human strands at an unprecedented, accelerated rate.

I thought we were to be given time to correct the mistakes made with subjects "Hunter" and "Warlock" that also show this mutation, as They intend her to be the perfected refinement of her brothers. At the very least, we can stabilize the rapid necrosis and regeneration of her cells before the _2030_ deadline, but to root out the problem? We need more time.

[ _2030.01.05_ ] … the Elders have allowed us an extra four years of development time. By no reason on my team could persuade Them, but rather the ghastly screams of the subject "Assassin" dying and living again, which was the state of her physiology at this time of record. The pain she must have been in …

For all intents and purposes, the stabilization process was a success. A weaker variation of the genetic engineering added more human strands than Elder – although their conditional atrophy seemed to have bled into her markup in the form of an unusual.. weakness? Even human flesh can withstand an explosive blast greater than she –

* * *

The energy of Them spits her back out into the cold world, out of their loving embrace of power and calm nothingness, she now lay prone in her chamber, long, gangly limbs wrapped around herself feebly to stave away the frigid air, curling tight in a ball – shivering. She could vividly recall her death, the deafening explosion that made her sensitive senses bleed, her skin crawl and pain, such an intense pain like she had never felt before.

" – Chosen!" she barely recognizes the cry of her XO, rushing towards her, falling to her knees in supplication by her fetal body. The lukewarm psionics of the Priest's power washes over her but it wasn't enough. It was not the blazing intensity of Them. Merely a husk of it. But like a babe, Jax-Mon seeks the energies, seeking it's comfort. She shoots like a Viper, grabbing Hecate and drawing her into an embrace. Not loving – she's incapable of that. Leeching. Desperately trying to fill the void.

It cannot be filled and eventually her wits and senses return.

"I thought I promised a death to anyone who enters here.." the Assassin mumbles into the white plate of her shoulder-pad, siphoning at the psionic connection that re-establishes between them. The Priest pulls away, lower half of her face rent with grief.

"T-The connection broke, I – You _**died**_ , Chosen. I didn't – I didn't know what to do. All I heard and thought were silence. If – if you wish to kill me for my worry, I will understand."

Jax-Mon cradles the Priest for a moment, contemplating her death. But she has no right to slaughter the children of children, so she merely pulls away and gazes distantly at her, lost in her thoughts. "No, you acted.. accordingly. I am not arrogant enough to believe I will be able to accomplish my task with no further deaths. You must learn to cope."

"I .. If – that is your will." She can tell that Hecate is not happy with this. Connected psionically, she must have felt the exact moment of her death, how her pain had been transferred to the Priest. She was more than a little shaken, understandably so. The Assassin rises from her weak display, assisting her XO to her feet as well. They were above death.

"You were my brother's Priest once. Had you never felt and endured _his_ death? Perhaps this is why he sent you away."

Hecate's breath shuddered as she had to temper her tone. Of all the times to inquire about that now, the Chosen was not one to wait, not when the opportunity presented itself. So her tone, though preternaturally soft, was firm; "Yes and I wept every time! It was not my compassion that was shunned, Chosen, it is my _defect_."

"How **so**?"

"I am blind." She's met with a thick silence and discomfort pours so heavily in her aura. Her face had long since abandon it's ugly grief for a more stoic expression, triaging her emotions, what she was not supposed to feel, through her psionics. "Your brother would never admit to making a mistake and this – this is my punishment that I readily accept upon myself."

"Then his arrogance is _my_ gain." Jax-Mon proclaims. "As long as you can perform what I ask of you, then I care not for this apparent defection. If anything, it is a boon. To be always shrouded in darkness.. seeing only what you wish with your psionics. Even I cannot achieve such absolute shadow."

"With all due respect, do not wish to." she whispers. "I have had years to.. adapt."

Hecate shakes her head, gathering her wits and exhaling softly. "Please, let us not dwell on it any longer. Even now the feedback of your death still resonates within me.."

The Assassin purses her lips, but ultimately agrees. How she came to attain such a disability was of no interest to her, even if she can piece together what happened. Her brother, the elder, speaks much of restraint, though hardly practices what he preached in regards to his own psionic power.

"I will comply. I must plan for the next excursion, in any case. I believe I tasked you to research my brother, the older..?"

* * *

Most of the files on the Hunter turned out to be under strict lock and key. Even someone of the Assassin's access level could not retrieve his files from the network, which indicated he'd tampered with them himself. That seemed to be the case as the files that Hecate **did** manage to pull up were simply eye-witness accounts on his, quote: " _awesomeness_." (His words, Hecate assures.)

But from what Jax-Mon could determine was that he seemed to breed a different sort of haughtiness than their brother. Dhag-Il's arrogance bled into his zealotry, but Dhag-Mai was, without a shadow of doubt, self-serving. He cared only for himself and his tasks given to him by the Elders were met with begrudging whinging. She did not know how such a creation of the Elders could warp so far from Their vision, but as far as she could read – he'd always been looking out for himself.

She isn't entirely too sure what his purpose even was. He mentioned, in their brief duel, that he had skills necessary to handle dimensional threats. Perhaps he was created to cull interdimensional races that grew out of hand from Their control? If that was the case, she did not know where he found the time to bug her or slack off. Initial contact with the Priests in his stronghold indicated that he hadn't returned to his base in over five and a half _**years**_. If he was not at his post, doing his duty, then why the long hunts? He had to be doing _something_.

Annoyingly, she knew that it would be a futile effort to try and find him herself. If he simply did not wish to be found: then he wouldn't. She could comb every single corner of the Earth and she would not find him. So, he would have to be lured to her and she had a pretty good idea on how to do so. The Assassin expected to be met with heavy resistance when she teleported to his stronghold, but was surprised to find the defences scarce, if active at all. MECs lay inert at the top of watchtowers, and there seemed only to be a skeleton crew operating.

"Chosen," it was the Priest she contacted with that greeted her, rather exasperatingly. She did not envy any creature that had her brother as their charge. "I apologize for the state of disarray on behalf of the Banestalker. He does not.. typically, expect.. visitors."

"I thought I would drop by and _surprise_ him." she demurred, striding into the base proper and ignoring the Priest's sorry attempt to keep pace. The layout was.. different, strangely. Not like hers or her elder brother's bases at all. She very quickly found herself lost in what looked like a storage unit for MECs. Only then did she finally turn her head to the Priest. " – Why is this base structured differently?"

"He rebuilt this stronghold from the ground up roughly on his third day of ascension." She informed. " – As I recall, he could not stand to have it mimic the Chosen Warlock's compound. In addition, he required an extra room for.. ah .. I believe he called it a.. _Hunter's lodge?"_

_Ascension_. The word repeats in the Assassin's mind. Not activated. Not born. _Ascended_. She had not been Chosen as he had, as her elder had either. But she had been made from the mould of Their vision for godhood. Was that the source of her brother's ire towards her, even if she felt nothing in return?

"Show me to this.. _Lodge_." she requests. The Priest has no choice but to obey, gesturing on through a room she had passed before.

Jax-Mon considered herself a bringer of death. She and mortality were co-workers, not friends: she was cordial to it, but did not let herself become so familiar. After all, humans were unable to and she should try to resemble something of the race the Elders wish to ascend. Yet when she entered the lodge, a tart taste of disgust threatened to fill the emptiness that accompanied her.

It was nothing but a glorified trophy cabinet. There was no honour in this. Defacing and mutilating a corpse to mount on a wall – disrespect of the highest kind! The creatures that felled in battle deserve better than to be centrepieces in a grisly showroom. Magenta-coloured eyes swept the room; most species recognizable. ADVENT soldiers at the floor, as if a statement to how lowly the Hunter thinks of them.

She approaches the wall, lips pulled back in a true snarl of disgust. It moved her to _**feel**_ a – a shadow of something. The kills looked as fresh as the day they were slain and she had no doubt that one unfortunate soul within the stronghold was tasked to keep it that way. Her gaze traveled upwards. Once it was passed the Archon in the centre; she no longer had names for the creatures.

The Assassin reached for one of the weapons mounted on the wall. It looked like an older prototype of the Darklance – the design not as sleek and the scope nowhere to be found. She pretended to inspect it in deep introspective thought before placing it neatly back on the rack and immediately put her foot on the risen ledge to push herself off and back flip over the knife swipe of the Hunter.

She landed perfectly on her hands, still preserving the momentum as he whipped around; no words minced as his rifle found it's way into his hands and a steady shot was made. As she already pushed herself to be airborne, she twisted herself in an impossible feat of acrobatics, shadowing over the traveling shot like it was a dance between her and the bullet. She thought she could even feel the heat of the kinetic bolt as it whizzed past her. Now on her feet, Jax-Mon had little time – but, _always_ enough for her – to bring her bracer up in time to parry and clash with the Hunter's knife.

"A little unconventional for you, is it not, dear brother?" she quipped, noting the serrated blade that had seen more death in a day than she had inflicted in a lifetime.

"I don't recall inviting you, sweet sister." he purred in response, though beneath his caustic tone was a frosty bite. "I think you need a lesson in respecting your elders, especially their privacy and their _things_."

Fighting the Hunter would always be a step up from a spar with Fiducia – as there existed that ever present threat of dying. She did not want to find out if today was the day he ditches his intention of 'testing' her in favour of simply killing. He proved himself to be quite a capable close-combat specialist.

_But not good enough,_ she thinks, overpowering his clash and forcing him to stumble a couple feet back, giving her enough time to draw her katana. His quick draw was fast, but her parry was faster and her advance just as swift. Her blade would always strike true and through any armour, so she tempered her strike to instead split his chestplate just far enough to nick skin and make a statement. He growled out an inhuman noise which simmered to a grunt when she kicked him off balance and forced him to the ground, blade tip pointed at his neck.

"You bested me once," she warned. "But I will not allow my honour to besmirched again by the likes of you."

"Honour!" he repeats, incredulous, spitting out a cantankerous laugh. He shrugs out of his now split plated armour, a grin on the verge of a snarl present on thin lips; " – What do you know of honour, you who have lived for what, a _week_ , now? Perhaps our brother's hubris has rubbed off on you, if you so claim this as a victory."

Her eyes narrowed at his words, tip of her katana now touching the rough, taught skin of his neck. He was not struggling in the slightest – and then she recalled the spar with Fiducia. How she had thought herself the victor when there were opportunities still present for him. It was because of that she managed only barely to deflect a killing shot of his Darkclaw. It granted him enough leeway to strike at her wrist with his palm, disarming her and keep her other arm buffered as he knocked her off balance.

Instead of forcing her supine, he instead twisted her to fall prone, one arm hooked around her throat and his knee dug into the small of her back whilst the majority of his weight rested at her lower spine. His grip was iron; her struggles vicious, but he had experience with wrestling various bucking creatures – the Assassin's attempts would peter out as he steadily increased the pressure on her windpipe.

"Do you yield?" he hissed into her ear, never once ceasing his pressure. She writhed, her hand trying to stray out to her fallen katana – only to get a bullet through the back of her hand for her troubles. An otherworldly bay of pain left her throat, orange blood splattering the ghastly reaped heads of his trophy collection.

" _ **Never**_ ," she choked.

Jax-Mon had never felt someone's intentions before so starkly as the Hunter's. His want for her death overpowered every other sense and yet she knew, that whilst her sarcophagus still remained, she would live. He tightened his grip and ground his knee into her spine before finally releasing her from his hold, standing up and straightening his padded armour lining, as if he hadn't just been mere moments from snapping her neck as he promised to do the first second of her arrival into the world.

"Fortunately for you," he sighed, inconvenienced and so very fake in how taxed he was. "I'm trying this new thing the Elders have been begging me to do called 'mercy.' – not really my style, but, you can't cough at what you haven't tried."

The weight released from her back and she wheezed, greedily gasping for air, scrabbling to her feet in an instant, eyes upon him and watching his every move. He merely wandered deeper into the lodge, retrieving a set of bandages before returning to her – only to find her katana wielded in her uninjured hand.

"Oh, put that thing away. I think I have proven I won the duel." he tuts. "Shall I act like my brother and order your obedience or will you try to retain some semblance of that honour you apparently found and let me tend to that?" He nods to her hand.

The Assassin bared her teeth like a wounded animal, but settled to sheath her blade and allow her brother closer. Dhag-Mai yanks her arm, not too kindly, towards him, supporting her wrist as he loops the thick woven bandages around the injury to stem the flow of blood. He tied the last pieces into a knot and the moment he did, she curls her arm away from him quickly.

"And they call _me_ dramatic." the Hunter's eyes roll skyward. "Now that our extended greeting is out of the way, why, exactly, are you here in my stronghold, poking your nose where it shouldn't be, sister? That's very naughty of you."

"I was curious as to my brother's task." she answers that part honestly, though he naturally would doubt foul play. " – My duty is to slay all who become godless. All who are traitorous to our cause. But I do not know what you were made to do."

He eyes her for the longest time. But he doesn't think she's capable of lying. Why would she be? After all, she wouldn't feel a need for it. So he scoffs a laugh, leaning on his weapon's workbench and folding his arms casually. "Why is it so important to know?"

"I want to be rid of this.. curiosity." Jax-Mon purses her lips. That was the closest to lying she could get. "It is like.. an insatiability -"

"I'm well aware the concept of curiosity. You know, humans having a saying for it? _Curiosity killed the cat._ " He leans just a bit closer and her uninjured hand settles on the hilt of her blade. It does not go unnoticed. "Or, more accurately for you, _curiosity killed the Chosen_."

Instead of having the intended effect, the Assassin seemed to look even more interested, much to his chagrin. " – You have interacted with humans?"

The Hunter blinks, face scrunching in wariness. "... Of a kind. Have you forgotten that your duty does not involve humans in the _**slightest**_?"

"I know that," she hissed. Bickering, almost like real siblings. "But I want to learn about them. Our Elders seem to adore them as much as they do us – " She ignored his humoured laugh when she said that, " – so would it be so wrong that I wish to study them? I can hardly kidnap one and extract information as I would a prisoner."

"What you ask and what you seek is two different things.. " he mutters as he searches deeper into the lodge, opening the table tops to reveal compartments underneath. Jax-Mon craned her head to get a look at what was inside and saw variety of.. well, junk. She did not know why he hoarded. "Humans themselves can spend a lifetime and not understand themselves.. and I'm sure whatever the Elders' interest, we can chalk it up to being apart of ' _Their grand design_ '."

He makes a soft noise of affirmation when he finds something, collecting at least an armful of the strange books. Shutting the lid, he shoves them into her arms, much to her befuddlement.

"They're called _magazines_. Old-world publications." he tells. "Some of them I collected are dated before we arrived, but others are more recent. Small pockets of nuisance resistance take to circulate these as opposed to a radio frequency. Apparently it's less traceable. It won't give you the case study of humanity that you desire, but, it'll sate that curiosity."

"Why do you.. have this?"

He shrugs. "I _collect_ things, if you hadn't noticed, sister. Trophies are not always in the shape of my kills. Now, what do you say?"

Jax-Mon stares at the pile of magazines in her arms, before back up to her brother, a frown present. Nevertheless, she relents. " … Thank you."

"Good girl."

* * *

Pratal Mox stood at attention when his shorter commander arrived. It wasn't often that he got to see Betos in the flesh – always being deployed on a mission at her behest – but with the total failure of the diplomacy, matters had to be addressed. She did not look happy, but at the very least, she seemed above anger. .. For now.

"At ease, Captain." she said, hands moving to rest authoritatively at her hips. A common stance she took after she witnessed it once. He bowed his head, resuming to sit at his seat. It wasn't long before Betos joined him at the round table. "I think you understand why I am here."

"This is – greater than we initially thought, Commander."

" _We_?"

He continues regardless of her skepticism. "More than just the Reapers. A new.. creature. I do not know what to call her. She attacked without warning, without provocation and slaughtered my squad and our new freed kin. She did not seem to hold any remorse nor regret. A chilling sight.."

"And yet you are the only one that returns alive and relatively unharmed." she points out. Her tone was incapable of being accusatory, as it didn't possess the vocal range quite like a human, but he got the gist of it through her words. He resisted the growl that rumbled in the back of his throat.

"Are you implying that I killed them myself, Betos? Have I not proven myself to you and the other Skirmishers time and time again and yet I must be reminded, constantly, of the atrocities I committed under the false God's influence?"

"It is through that reminder that we humble ourselves, Mox." she tells, allowing his insubordination for just this once. "In any case, were I not to trust you, I would not seat myself across you so readily. Tell me again of this new threat. Who is she?"

"Unknown. There is no trace of records that any of us can remember of this.. creature. She resembles much like an Elder in their prime." he barely represses the full-body shiver at such words. The thought was horrific enough. "But.. different? More human. I cannot determine her goals other than she is a hostile entity."

"Resembles an Elder..?" Betos echoed in thought, leaning back in her seat to retrieve her datapad, scrolling through something. She found what she was looking for, sliding the pad to Mox to show him an ADVENT broadcast of –

"That's her." he confirms, staring down at the magenta-coloured eyes glaring back. A Saint, she called herself.. "If she is featured in ADVENT propaganda, then she must be merely another one of their puppets."

"We too were puppets once, Mox. Perhaps -"

"No." he adamantly states. "Commander, I implore you. I fought with her. She is _beyond_ diplomacy. Do not forsake us to death in trying."

"Then in order to prepare against this new threat, we must learn more about it." she says. "You are the only one alive that has seen and dealt with it. It pains to me to redeploy you so soon, but.."

Mox rises from his seat, thumping his chest in salute to her. "I would have volunteered regardless, Commander. I can never feel at ease resting until our task is complete."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [gestures closer and whispers It's Bad Writing as I try to explain my choices in this chapter] So, Hecate's blindness. A seemingly odd thing to be stigmatized in a world where cancer is curable, so there's no doubt that there exists some eye correctional facilities that ADVENT personnel have access to. My argument is, because it's going to take time to explain how the Priests are viewed within the hierarchy, that Hecate sustaining a permanent injury be it a scar or otherwise is probably one of the ways to disgrace them and once you're known as That Priest That Got Injured (actually even worse, because it's That Priest That Got Injured By The Warlock), well, that never goes away.. seeing as all correctional or medical facilities are documented on the Network, it's a lot easier for her just to cope with the blindness with a select few knowing it rather than have it public knowledge.
> 
> In addition: coping with it because she feels it's fitting atonement. After all, it's totally her fault that she got injured, because they're incapable of blaming the Chosen.
> 
> Also, with the logs I'm writing in every other chapter or so, it's the Network. I see it as this biomechanical-psionic interface that allows ADVENT to communicate as shown within the game. And yes, the Warlock is definitely petty enough to keep command over as many priests as he can, even if he's disgusted with one of them.
> 
> This chapter is pretty bloated, so if you get through this.. thank you.


	5. Rage

Of course, anything willingly given to her by her older brother would be nothing more than a distraction. She should know this. He would attempt to subvert her understanding and betterment by misdirecting her – pointing her wrongly.

Yet she still sat with the publications scattered around her, picking through them and letting her curiosity fester and congeal into a greater beast. Her mind constantly worked to find the purpose of such things and yet.. perhaps it's lack of purpose was it's point? That made no sense to a creature like her. _Everything_ had purpose. Eventually she settled on the explanation that they were once a source of entertainment and advertisement.

Her fingers delicately turned the fragile pages, eyes scanning the contents in search of information she could use. Whilst it did not make her understand why the Elders adored humanity more than that of the Chosen, she got a sense of how ADVENT came to dominate the media and placate the populace. She saw an outdated advertisement of a supermodel trying to sell a sort of.. skin cream? Her skin looked flawless and the claims were printed in bright, bold lettering. The models used to showcase the works of the gene therapy clinics reflected these old-style ads.

She discarded the magazine and reached for another. This one seemed entirely devoid of purpose; with nothing but heresy on their fellow humans. Rumourmongers printing their schism in obnoxious colours and scandalous photographs. All of it pointless when faced with the burden of time.

The Assassin then chose one of the more recent zines, one stapled together in some haven's attempt to have some independence away from ADVENT, produce their own media and bolster morale. It was crude, lacking any of the design of the old-world publications with trivia and items hoping to keep their culture afloat interspersed with obscene images of men and women, or political cartoons defacing key members of ADVENT. It did not stir anything within her other than a faint annoyance at her wasted time.

Hecate entered her chambers at her psionic request, silent and awaiting her orders.

"Burn these," the Assassin said, dumping the collection of magazines into her arms. The Priest stumbled, almost dropping one until she supports the collection easily. Her fingers skim the lamented surface, head cocked in uncertainty.

"Chosen?"

"Dhag-Mai decided to offload some of his useless garbage onto me. Burn it."

"Will he not want them back?"

"He should have thought of that before dropping them on me."

Hecate had no choice but to obey and with the bow of her head, she left her chambers just as silently as she'd entered. Jax-Mon, not willing to let herself be set back, slid off her raised platform and headed towards her armoury. She tasked Fiducia with a new project to fabricate, hopefully something he had made progress on.

* * *

" – I would estimate that I am about seventy-five percent completed with this project." She allowed him to keep his focus onto the shell of the grenade he was handling. He'd stripped down most of the bulk of his plate armour into something a little more flexible and less hazardous. His helmet naturally remained, even if he looked strange with the absence of his gilded armoured shoulders. His hands were steadier than she'd come to expect from the typical ADVENT troop, but as it was turning out, her entourage was anything but _typical_.

"This is slower than I expected. I wanted to have this grenade for tonight's task." she told so he was aware of her disappointment, though unlike Hecate whom would move mountains to regain her favour, Fiducia merely adjusted the magnification and inspected the inner components, humming softly to himself in idle thought.

"By all means Chosen, I can give you a faulty grenade and it end up exploding in your hand." he rose a single shoulder in a human gesture she had come to know as being a shrug. "Or you can allow me one more week and you will have your project complete."

She snorts. As if there was even a choice in question. He would have as much time as he required. Jax-Mon sidles to the side of the bench, forgoing the stool to instead stare, hawk-like at his work. "You managed to fabricate the ripjack in decent time. What is slowing you?"

"The ripjack was an already existing blueprint." Fiducia gracefully slotted the axis within the grenade's fuse system; "This _blinding grenade_ is something new entirely. I've used a stun grenade as a base for it's design to cut the development time in half, but as for the rest, it requires new input."

His tool pauses in contemplation. " – Perhaps after you've tested it's success, I may grant the Network access to it's design? Our peacekeepers could make use of a blinding grenade for riot control."

Jax-Mon waved her hand dismissively to the question. "I care not what you do with the design."

A comfortable silence settles over them as Fiducia continues to work, undeterred by the presence of the Chosen watching his every move like a wild cat waiting the opportune moment to pounce. His task was to work on the project, not make idle chatter, after all. It wasn't long before the Assassin's voice cuts through his concentration. " – I learned that Hecate was once my brother's follower. Do you share a similar past?"

"In a way. My original station was within the Chosen Hunter's stronghold. When it seemed the world was going to receive a third Chosen, however, he deemed my presence in his base surplus. I was redeployed at the Elders' behest as an experienced asset to assist you in any way you deem fit." He tests the lever, satisfied, before adding; "He'll claim it's an act of kindness on his behalf, but, we're aware that he sees my kind on the same level as one appraises dirt."

"Does that not anger you?"

"Terrorists disrupting city centres and killing innocent ADVENT civilians angers me." He settles the grenade on the bench, flexing his worn fingers from the intricate level of work required. "The Chosen's actions can never inspire such a thing."

" … Not all Chosen view your kind as mere bodies to the slaughter."

Fiducia smiles, or at least, she believed he did. It went by so fast, she almost missed it. But nothing escaped Jax-Mon's notice. "We appreciate that, Wraithmaiden."

* * *

_Right on schedule._

To the Hunter's altered eyes, he perceive beyond the veil of one mere reality. He witnessed the many-faced creatures, things that no language could pronounce, beings whose presence twisted a human's understanding of physics. This preternatural sight was his gift from the Elders – there would be nothing that could escape Their sight, nothing that was beyond Their grasp. To any creature that dare defy Their rule – he was Their handler.

He checked through the scope of his rifle – which he'd configured to rest on a raised stand so that he could kick his feet back and recline lazily. The sight of his sister teleporting in a mile away from the Skirmishers he'd already spied ahead was the focal point of his targeting system. It calculated a ninety-nine point nine-nine percent chance of critically injuring her. Tempting, but it wasn't one-hundred percent.

So he pulls away, plucking a grape from it's vine and popping it into his mouth. Eating wasn't something his kin had to do; but he liked the fact that he _could_ and it annoyed his brother to no end that he partook in ' _useless human necessities_.' – no doubt Jax-Mon would share his elder's ire. The thought made him smirk.

He returned to the scope, watching a shroud of psionic energy embrace her like a blanket, washing her from sight. But not his. No, her figure was still very much outlined; colours inverted and dyed purple as she shifts into the same dimension that Codices liked the lurk in. A pocket of void that warped the space around her rather than an entirely other universe – he never bothered understanding it all, really. He just killed.

By the time he'd devoured another grape, she'd already trekked across that mile. Set herself in a perch on the rooftops overlooking the squad of six. Predictable as ever, he believes he could guess what she was thinking. Waiting to see if they were to separate and make her job easier. Eavesdropping into snippets of lives more interesting than hers.

"Go on, kill them all." he urged under his breath. Naturally, his sister did not know he was even there. She moved – and he leaned closer to watch the bloodshed unfold, only to slump back disappointed when she dropped to crouch on the crates below like a stoic cathedral grotesque.

The squad of six seemed to be talking quite animatedly among themselves which is why the Assassin hesitated to strike now, lest she miss crucial information. Smart, but it didn't make for good entertainment.

His Darklance hummed as the targeting system picked up additional lifeforms. He usually ignored the sound as it tracked every creature between this plane of reality and the next. A trio of three dots – and he heard the of rustling leaves. The footfalls were _unmistakably_ human. He peered through the scope.

"Mhm, Elena … What _**are**_ you doing here? You don't usually operate so close to the city." he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, seeing the Reaper veteran crouch low into the brush, flanked by two males about three hundred yards from his bird's nest. Mask or not, he knew each and every single member of the faction from their steps alone.

Whilst he could watch her slay Skirmishers all day with a beat of pride for his former faction, it would mean she would discover the existence of his sister. He debated letting the Assassin simply deal with the additional firepower, but, he was petty. Reapers were his kills and damn him if he's going to let _her_ take one of **his** trophies.

So he, with great physical effort, tilted his rifle upwards and switched off the silencer to let the lance roar with a great thunderous crack as the darkfire bolt shot into the sky. A sound that the Reapers were intimately familiar with. No doubt Elena cursed him thrice – and they scattered away from the area now that they were acutely aware the Hunter stalked these grounds.

Of course this alerted the Skirmishers who shared a mutual thought with their enemy faction, bolting under the cover of darkness. Jax-Mon rose up to stand, a snarl present on her face as she looked towards where he was nested. He gazed through the scope in time to see her mouth: ' _I will return for you, brother._ ' before her sleek form weaved through the shadows and aimed to descend death upon the scattered traitors.

* * *

"That did not sound like any Vektor rifle _I_ know."

"Then I am not sure what to tell you, brother." Mox chewed out his squaddie. "Either the Reapers have gotten access to better equipment or there is **another** unknown threat we have to deal with. Pick whichever helps you sleep at night."

With the presence of Reapers lurking in the shadows, their plans of liberalizing the nearby haven of the oncoming ADVENT outreach patrol – which was nothing more than a glorified death squad that had their pick of the most non-threatening looking refugees to return and rehabilitate for their propaganda – were looking slim. They didn't have much time to reorganize a new strategy, as ADVENT would hardly wait for them to do so before they stepped in and wiped the resistance camp clear.

Mox did not expect Reapers would be operating tonight. The camp was well known to be dangerous to the outlying factions, given it's unfortunate location near the city centre. It was just on the fringe to be away from the culture of the aliens, but close enough that a terror strike could happen at any moment. It was usually used as a pit stop from people fleeing the cities before restocking and traveling outwards to better suited, more hidden camps.

But then again, he knew Outrider. She would follow him to the ends of the Earth if it meant a chance at his head. He was thankful his helmet covered his snarl. Let her come and test him tonight, if that was to be the case. He would view the duel as a great honour – and death more so.

"The humans won't even appreciate us risking our lives," the same squaddie piped up, determined to test Mox's patience. He could understand his brother's vexation. He was newly freed, and the veteran Skirmisher recalled himself echoing similar sentiments when Betos had took him under her wing. He cuffed him behind the ear much like she had when he stepped out of line and the disciplinary action the squaddie's brain was still conditioned to follow snapped his spine straight.

"You do not do good deeds to be recognized. The act of saving lives is in of itself a reward." he explained tersely, though commendably he kept his legendary temper in check. "I am sure the humans also did not appreciate the sixteen house raids you took part in that lead to newly formed widows or parent-less children."

That shut him up. Betos was right about it being humbling.

As Mox had yet to say otherwise, they continued on with the plan. The death squad – ahem, _outreach programme,_ – consisted of a fairly high ranked Officer backed with three separate squads of four. Being only six, they would have to shoot smart and maximize their arsenal. Taking the Officer out would disrupt the chain of command enough that the haven may be safe for a few months at the least.

_Or indite heavier retaliation;_ thinks Mox. _ADVENT will not stand for such disgrace._

"You three take the high-ground to provide covering fire. The rooftops should be clear for tonight." Mox orders. The three in question obeyed, two scaling the building from the drainage pipe and another launching his grapnel to soar through the air and land on his feet, sniper's rifle setting up on it's tripod. Mox gestured to the remaining two whom were a former assault and demolitionist. " – With me."

The demolitionist provided several proximity mines to lay out in the path that the death squad will take and once they blink live, they burrow under the ground like Chyrssalid burrowers lying in wait for anyone to make the unfortunate mistake of crossing it's path. They fanned out, creating a kill-zone that the larger squad would have no choice but to bottleneck through. Now all that was left was the waiting game and a prayer that the Reapers did not strike. They must have been wary of the incoming force, or else Mox is certain he would be brawling with Outrider right now.

He couldn't dismiss the feeling of there being a presence, however – it was so alien, like electricity on the tongue. Static in the air. He tried to rationalize his anxiety as simply being that, though he found himself ruefully thinking if there was any regrets he had from breaking free of the Network's influence, it was the lack of fear obedience drilled into them.

Fear and nerves turned out to be quite the survival tools, as Betos explained once. It was what made humanity so tenacious. Heightened reflexes far more naturally than any psionic command issued by a nearby Officer could give.

The distant echoes of a storming march yanked him out of his thoughts and prepared him for battle. Given the proximity between the city centre and the fringe camp, it wouldn't be necessary to take the ADVENT Skyrangers, though they were no doubt on stand-by for reinforcements or merely a show of force.

"C-Captain!" the lance-corporal's voice filtered over their radio comms, the inflections taxed with frightened concern. "Alpha-two is.. is gone! He's not at his post – "

"What?" Mox cursed, risking a moment to glance up at the rooftops where the squaddie should have been. Indeed, he was nowhere to be found. Even if he was to desert them, which was unheard of within the ranks of the Skirmishers, not a single sound had been made. He was given little time to contemplate over this as the volume of the marching grew louder.

That's when he saw her.

Or more accurately, the blinding white of her katana slicing through the thick, reinforced plate armour like butter and slashing the skin of his chest. His layered armour protected him enough that it was 'only' a grievous injury, one that had him spiralling to the floor, heaving in spluttered breaths, hand flying to his wound; his vision clouded and mind dazed.

"You are no warrior," her scratchy voice pierced through the haze of agony. "Folding like cards at a mere slight. Pathetic! You deserve to be culled."

Jax-Mon flourished her short sword, deflecting the shot of the sniper. She abandons Mox to bleed out on the ground floor, instead leaping up with the hail of bullets at her back, missing her shifting form, drifting in and out of sight as her psionic cloaking holds. She lands on her feet and the sniper scrabbles to reach for her pistol, only to have her arm sliced off. She cries out – and was swiftly silenced by the Assassin.

Regardless of their outstanding order, the four remaining soldiers knew they were at a disadvantage and with the death-squad rapidly approaching, they had no choice but to abandon the mission. The assault trooper slings his gun to his back, rushing to Mox's side, making sure he was properly supported over his shoulders before rising and hobbling away as fast as he could without endangering his wounded squad leader.

The Assassin saw this as two birds with one slash of her katana, but in a surprising effort, the demolitionist let loose the rest of his cannon's magazine in saturated fire to keep her at bay. It was almost touching that he would cover for his fellow team. But she felt nothing but her duty to the Elders and thus ignored his attempts. Sprinting across the rooftops, she vaulted to the opposite building to strike at the heart of the last remaining Skirmisher on the high-ground.

The Skirmisher had enough sense to try and outmaneuver her as besting her in combat was not an option, using her grapple to launch herself upwards on the building's chimney and swing to the other building, trying to buy enough time. Jax-Mon spun Arashi out of it's holster and shot her down as she was airborne. The resulting fall and gunshot lead to her death – and an explosion as her corpse unfortunately landed on the proximity mine.

This was what bought the Skirmisher's enough time, as the Assassin fell to her knees, hands covering her ears as white noise screamed at all of her senses. They were so sensitive, so keen, that such a close noise ripped through the delicate balance of harmony, like a discordant slam of piano keys. Her fingers curled across the top of her head, riding out the intense wave until it petered out.

The proximity mine had caused a good chunk of the adjacent building's infrastructure to topple into the kill-zone, blocking passage for the oncoming death-squad. It wasn't quite the months-long delay they were hoping for, but even a day was worth every effort.

Jax-Mon was not about to let them get away. She growled and spat an inhuman curse, jumping down below and sprinted after the fleeing traitors. She caught up to the demolitionist, driving her katana's point through his gut. She did not care for the lack of disrespect as she kicked the corpse off her blade, intent on simply not failing.

It was too late. The assault carrying the wounded soldier had grabbed onto the awaiting rope of a re-purposed Skyranger, ADVENT logo torn and repainted to fit the Skirmisher's banner. The pulley yanked them up into the sky safely and her Arashi's shot was simply too spread out to do any damage. She stared at the retreating aircraft, smoke dotting the distance of the destruction behind her.

Rage.

True, unadulterated rage overcame her in a way she could not control. She had never felt anything above a shadow of an emotion and now pure fury overtook her senses, threatening to overload her wit and thought. Incorruptible focus now snarled at the fact she had failed. Every thought, fibre and sense in her being now pointed towards redemption for this injustice. Starting with her brother.

The Assassin blazed through the brush towards her brother's lingering signature, her anger rivaling that of the Elders' wrath.

"Looks like you failed, little sister." he said in way of greeting. "I _could_ have shot them, but – "

Even the Hunter's preternatural ability of tactical ingenuity and prediction could not save him from his sister's unhampered assault. She pounced on him far quicker than his reflex had chance to draw his pistol, her blade digging deep into his chest, through his meagre armour and underlining, cut straight into his heart, her palm shoved into the pommel, twisting for good measure. Genuine surprise and unspoken pain widened his psionic-infused eyes, before a feral grin split across his face as his life began to leave him.

"Well … that didn't go as planned," he choked. "I'll see you .. soon."

He vanished from under her as the pull of his sarcophagus prevented his true death and now her coated blade lay stabbed into the dirt ground. ' _Killing_ ' Dhag-Mai had not gave her the satisfaction of purging the disappointment she felt in herself. Of what the Elders' indubitably felt. She dragged herself up.

She failed.


	6. Humility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter, but things are going to kick off soon. No-one reads these notes right? Good, cause I like to say I enjoy writing Hecate and Fiducia a little too much. I've always seen Skirmishers and the human-hybrid like pugs. So ugly, but so cute. ... Anyway. Back to the story. You didn't see anything.

"It's been nearly two weeks, my love."

"I'm aware, Fiducia. I've tried reaching out to her everyday and I am met with an insurmountable psionic fortress."

Fiducia frowned, risking to peek out from the cover of the wall to see the Assassin's still, statuesque form. Her eyes were open, but she stared at nothing. Trance-like. Far be it for him to disrupt her, but he had his duty, which was to present her with the finished blinding grenade. It was difficult to do when she was unresponsive to Hecate's psionic call.

"I suppose we leave her to it, then." he announced uncertainly, assuming the role of commander as his superior was otherwise.. unobtainable. Though the issuing protocol that allowed him a commander's security clearance in the Network was not passed. For all intents and purposes; Jax-Mon was still present in the base, making her command. His brows furrow behind his helmet.

It was not like her to leave them without orders. Something had happened – changed, when she returned in the dead of night, covered in blood that wasn't her own. She seemed so.. aware. Was it sacrilegious to think that his Chosen looked frightened? She made a beeline to the platform to meditate and hadn't left since.

"Yes, but.. _two_ _weeks_?" Hecate inquires, head turned to the sound of his voice rather than really looking at him. "Even the Chosen Warlock informed us when he lapsed into such long sessions of meditation. We have.. no orders."

He knows and it makes him feel so.. devoid of purpose. When servicing the Hunter, at least his extended sessions of hunting meant that he had command of the base. That was an order. This, was.. something else. The prime doctrine was empty. He was beginning to get a sense of how meaningless it all was until the Priest pipes up.

"Perhaps I.. should contact the Chosen Warlock," she murmurs. "He will know what to do – "

"Hecate! Not only is that unauthorized, I have a duty to protect everyone within this stronghold and that certainly includes you." Fiducia tells, placing a hand sternly on her plated shoulderpad. Her head now snapped exactly to where he was rather than distantly staring just off to the side. " – He was merciful once. He might not be so a second time."

But she merely plucks his hand off her shoulder and holds it clasped between her own. "For our Chosen, I will handle the consequences. Please do not stress yourself over conflicting sub-directives, especially when he would not think twice over silencing you."

"Your status as a Priest will not grant you much immunity."

"I do not expect it too."

Fiducia held her hand for the longest time, as if it was the only thing that prevented her from contacting the Chosen. His body deflated a little as he exhaled a defeated sigh, slipping from her grip and nodding slowly. " _Fine_. But I will – stand watch."

Hecate lowers herself to genuflect, rifle placed to lay beside her as her hands rest gently on her thighs, head tipping down in revered silence. The defense captain watches and given his own link to the Network, he could hear the faint whispers of things that should not be. Her chin dips to her chest, no doubt falling into the same meditative state that had swept away their Chosen.

Whilst her physical sight may be rent, she did not need to see in order to sense the psionic energy. Such a bright flame as the Warlock's – so powerful, so threateningly overwhelming that it dared to consume any who stumbled across it like a moth attracted to a candle – was unmistakable. She followed the signature, reaching out and probing it with her own. Calling to him, fumbling in the dark towards the brilliance.

 _Chosen_ , she implored the silent light. _Chosen. I come before you in supplication. I beg of you to heed my call._

There it was. Her breath hitched at the intensity of raw power – Fiducia unknowing to what transpired watched pensively as she communes with void. Her hands clutch at her thighs tightly, a muscle in her jaw tensing. The Warlock received her message and he spoke back in whispered voices that carried but a shadow of it's charisma.

 _'You_.' Hecate knew he was not amused to have heard her out of all Priests call upon him. ' _Do not make me regret my mercies in allowing you to keep the mantle of priesthood. What was given can ever so easily be taken away.'_

_I would not dare to insult you with my presence if it was not for an utmost emergency, Chosen._

_' … Very well. What is this so called emergency?'_

_We stand without directive. Our Wraithmaiden is silent to us. Something heinous occurred during her last mission and she has slipped into a cold retreat. I cannot reach her. Please, I do not know who else to turn to._

A long silence, and then a soft rumble. _'I will go to her. Make the necessary preparations for my arrival.'_

The connection cuts and Fiducia swiftly wraps his arms around the Priest before she falls from the sheer pressure that elevated off of her shoulders. She gasps out, holding onto his arms to steady herself as he eases her to her feet. He looked at her expectantly and she held on, murmuring in a tone that was less than soothing;

"He will see to her."

* * *

Breathe in … Breathe out …

How could she have failed? Once was unthinkable enough, but she accepted such a loss. For she must learn and mistakes were humanity's prerogative to do so. But to allow the wounded captain to escape with his life a second time was the greatest dishonour that could fall upon her.

 _What do you know of honour?_ Her brother's words ring in the void of meditative space. She murdered him in a fit of rage. He'll return, as healthy as ever soon enough, but the feeling of anger, the orange blood in her veins boiling – such feeling made her stomach turn. It was no wonder the Elders wished to have her bereft of emotions. Destructive, disgusting things that only served to corrupt her purpose and colour her focus.

She did not know how long it has been since she retreated in on herself, but she must hone her being. Return back to the state of empty, cold efficiency she was meant to have. Become ignorant once again to the brimming ice-hot anger that licked at the corners of her conscious.

To be wrathful was to be sinful. What child of the Gods would let themselves stray so far from Their path? She was a disgrace.

Breathe in … Breathe out …

Jax-Mon hears the calls of Hecate sometimes. A desperate, grovelling thing, trying to pierce through the veil and reach her. She turns a deaf ear; blocking the Priest out of her mind. Her soldiers deserved better in a commander. She would not become a lazy degenerate like her older nor a self-professed deity like her elder. She will prove herself.

However long it took, she would not move until her focus was regained.

Oh, if only it was that simple. She felt the prickle of psi-energy once again. Stronger, bolder than Hecate. _No_ , she denied. _No, leave me. Do not see me like this until I have returned myself to Their vision. Brother –_

But it was pointless to dissent with her elder. Her fortress crumbled in around herself, reality flooding in quicker than her senses kept up and she collapsed into the open arms of her sibling. It was not an embrace out of unconditional love, but one of fervent need, consuming the all-too powerful energy that surrounded him. For the first time in weeks, she blinks and rests her forehead against his neck.

"What is becoming of me, brother?" she mumbled, seeking his guidance once again, like a lost lamb. He was supposed to be her shepherd in the Elders' stead, making sure that she did not stray and yet where was he when she slaughtered their kin? When anger washed her focus? Now, after the fact, he comes to pick the pieces. A bitter seed of resentment sowed and it threatened to bloom under her spite. She wished for the quiet void again. The silence. The emptiness.

Dhag-Il did not answer at first. He knew what the Elders wished him to say, but the opportunity to steer her away.. to keep her as the _**imperfect**_ creation of their masters and allow him time to regain Their favour as Their favourite over his sister … His hubris would not allow her to bask in Their glory any longer than she already had.

He carefully rubs her back, a gesture humans imparted to signal comfort as his voice dropped to a soothing, softened rumble; "What the Elders intended," he assures falsely. "You are still an infant in the eyes of the world, dear sister. They still love you, no matter what has been lost."

The Warlock could feel her grip tightening to a point he realized it was not out of seeking comfort, but a growing storm. He wisely released her from his embrace, witnessing first hand her face draw into such malice it made both his and their brother's seem petulant in comparison.

"I should have never lost anything to begin with." she spits hellfire, the very image of Wrath itself ready to descend upon the unsuspecting. He fought with a malignant grin, managing to keep himself in check as her gaze locked with his. "I _killed_ Dhag-Mai!"

"You know death is inconsequential to us." he dismisses her concerns with a mere wave of his hand. ".. and I believe we can both agree that our brother walks a thin line. He is more than aware that disrupting our work will lead to punishment."

"But – "

"Sister," the Warlock interrupts, clawed gauntlets resting delicately on her slim shoulders, stilling and silencing her complaints. "Losses will happen, but they will only become as such if you allow yourself to be defeated like this. Seek your redemption and rectify your errors. That is the true path to the perfection you strive to reclaim."

"The anger.."

" … Is a tool." he clarifies. She was not built to feel. Not made to emote. So he shall make her embrace her newfound fullness, believe that it was intended. "Do what you were created to do and _utilize_ it. Drown the heretics in the flames of your fury for daring to besmirch our masters' name. For daring to dishonour _you_."

Her focus realigns upon the words of her shepherd, his guidance like gospel to her. The Assassin slowly nods, now better understanding and her tenseness drains from her as her purpose clarifies.

"I will make them rue the day they decided to ignore our masters' call." she agrees in mumbled promise. "I _will_ regain my lost honour."

The Warlock hums, pleased. A subtle shift of context meant all the difference and would not incriminate him. For she would still continue to hunt the profane as their masters intended, not in dutiful necessity, but in enraged atonement. He almost couldn't _wait_ for the Elders to discover just how far from their design she had fell.

 _Perhaps they might deem her such an utter failure that they terminate her_. He thinks. He prays.

* * *

Elena Dragunova didn't much like England – and the UK ADVENT megacity centre even _less_.

But Volk personally entrusted this job to her. She had never seen him so animated, so alight with renewed purpose since the day he founded the Reapers in the first place.

She was just a kid of eleven at the time of it's foundation; when she returned to the ghetto of ramshackle huts and horrid living conditions in the dead of winter. To see it ablaze with flames, silhouetting the figures of ADVENT's death squad in a fiery outline. She kicked and screamed and fought but she did not cry at the time. The beaten men and women of the camp fought back and she battled alongside them.

She made a promise that day. All who bear the sigil of ADVENT would be met with death. Their alien masters given the same treatment. It pained her to weave silently through the black streets of the never-sleeping city when there were night-shift patrols she could be executing.

 _Recon_ , Volk's voice sternly reminded her in her mind. _If this lead is true, then I promise you there will be more opportunities to strike at the aliens than if you were to kill them now._

Elena didn't want to believe the existence of this supposed great tactical mind. Hope was too dangerous for a Reaper to feel. They lived by three rules and three rules only: One, the only certainty is your rifle. Two, strike to kill or do not strike at all and three..

There are more dangerous things than the Reapers that lurk in the shadows.

She crouched behind a parked car, her black attire camouflaging nicely against the sleek onyx of the vehicle as the patrol of two troopers meandered down the streets. Her eyes narrowed behind her night-vision mask, glaring at them until they wandered at a safe enough distance away for her to move on ahead, body kept low to the ground as she stealthily made her way to a nondescript, yet heavily fortified and secured building.

She stopped at a decoration of a flower bed near a statue of the Elders, hand splayed on the ground as she watched the peacekeeper carefully. He adjusted his grip on his gun and turned his head – an opportunity Elena used to bolt past him undetected, barely a flutter of fabric or the step of her boots sounding in her wake.

The Reaper scaled the building by the drainage pipe, stopping at the second floor where the intel purport this ' _Commander_ ' to be. She glanced around – all clear – and eased the unlocked window up with the palm of her hand, slipping in carefully. Ingenious, hiding their greatest asset in plain sight, almost like it was a hidden display of their trophy. The building was unmarked, but inside was an abandoned lab and a locked, secure door at the end of the room. All scientists should have clocked out for the night.

She checked the room for any alarm trippers set. Her mask was programmed to pick up on infrared, heat signatures and so forth. It was safe to cross.

Hacking the security door without being detected was simple and as she stored her datapad, she stared at the back of a brunet, gathering scattered papers on the floor – a cup of coffee spilled by his feet seemingly the source of his distress and muttered curses.

He hears the door and without turning around he mumbles; "I know, I know, I said the report would be on your desk today, but it's just been -"

He did not get to finish his sentence as Elena stabbed a pin-like syringe into his neck. He spluttered something before his body slumps, guided by her hand, to the floor neatly. Asleep – not dead. She approaches the stasis tube, the brightness of the room conflicting with her mask's light. She lifts to remove it, brown eyes coldly regarding the figure in the full-body suit.

"So you _**are**_ real." she whispers under her breath, appraising the figure. Her cynicism still doubted, as _anyone_ could be in that suit. But she knew, the aliens would not go to such lengths for just any human. She activates her two-way radio, leaning close to it. "Outrider to Volk. Visual confirmation on the target package."

She heard his drawn breath – the revelation of her words striking too strongly for her to hear over the terrible radio frequency. " _Excellent work, Outrider. Move to extract safely._ "

Elena slotted her mask back over her face, sparing only a pitiful glance at the sleeping scientist before leaving just as silently as she came. When it was safe enough, she asked over the comm-line; "What now, Volk?"

" _Now?_ " he pauses. " _I think it's time I get in touch with an old buddy of mine."_


	7. Unification

Unification day.

Jax-Mon was aware of this momentous occasion. The day humanity stood down and accepted the benevolence of her masters. Accepted their place and allowed the Elders to begin the process of ascending them to heights that seemed but a distant dream for such a primitive, yet versatile race. Where ADVENT was formed as the coalition between alien-and-human interaction, before it mutated to become the superpower it was known to this day.

Seated on her platform, the Assassin slid the black cloth over her katana, dipping her finger and putting pressure in between the creases and intricate metalwork of the blade. It's material was unknown even to her, the maker just another mystery. At first she believed it was her brother, the older's work, but he did not look upon it with pride or recognition. Perhaps the Elders themselves forged it.

There were many memories that were not her own that related to the founding of the unification, twenty years ago. She allowed them to play at the forefront of her mind as she cleaned her weapon. The Commander, whose features were shrouded, the perspective always in their eyes – the intensity they felt fell over her conscious like a shadow. Rabid shouting – bustling of booted footfalls storming through the base.

She turned the katana over, repeating the process for the other side.

Panic, that was what the Commander felt in the last few lucid moments they had. Reaching under the desk to retrieve a pistol, chair scraping back and inviting. The aliens caught up with them eventually – and Jax-Mon saw, for the first time, the Commander themselves through the reflection of broken, fragmented glass.

Older than she expected. Their – _**her**_ – eyes hidden behind the flare of thick rimmed glasses. Greying hair wound in a tight, practical bun and a stance that screamed a battlelord. But, in the end, she was just human, no matter how brilliant the Elders saw her to be. The aliens advanced, she killed two and the memory stops there, before battle simulations are looped at infinitum.

Jax-Mon marvels at the ingenuity of human physiology. The Commander was hooked into the very infrastructure to the Network, feeding every creature with a chip the necessary tactical information they required to make a decision on the field, yet still she lives, despite all that data. Healthily so, in that little tank.

In a way, does that not make her Chosen? Ascended in a different way – still retaining her humanity and with none of their masters' gifts, but providing them with _so_ much. It was nice to think of her as a sister, even if the Commander was nothing more than a biological tactical interface.

She silently allowed Hecate to enter as her psi-energy gently probes against her own. Her steps resounded through the chamber until she stops at the foot of the platform.

"Chosen," she began, "You are preparing for a mission..?"

"No," Jax-Mon informs, inspecting her sword, flourishing it slowly, before resting it across her lap. "It is Unification Day. I believe it would disgruntle the Elders to shed blood in their name on this day. It is a moment of.. peace, for us all."

"The Speaker is set to make a speech later this evening, as it is the twentieth anniversary of this day." the Priest murmurs. "I am required, as most Priests are, to attend the ceremony. Perhaps, if you are to remain in the stronghold today, that Fiducia may attend with me as my escort?"

"Do you not trust the peacekeepers that will be assigned to you?"

"Of course I do, Chosen." she says in a tone that meant the exact opposite of what she just said. Jax-Mon smirks. " – But I find that my trust in my bondmate is greater."

The Assassin considers it a design flaw that the Priests grow so dependent on their security detail; to the point of forming these bonds. It was a clever way to ensure that the Priest was never caught alone or unawares, especially if their psionic energy lapsed them into a deeper state of concentration, but the trade-off was this _need_. It toed the line between independent wants and mere machine preference.

She recalls the files on the Network, that the early iterations of the ADVENT soldiers were capable of forming companionship, bond – and even love, to make them seem more human. But that lead to issues of obedience and with that being their prime doctrine – the current template of soldiers have such skills and abilities disabled.. but not _removed_.

The Priests, always being the unique apple of the Elders' eye, were allowed a version of the older template and once they interface with their chosen bondmate; it imprints the release command for the soldier in question. It was as close to mimicking a human relationship as they were going to get.

If human relationships allowed for mutually beneficial mind-melding, that was.

"I suppose I am content with the work Fiducia has done for me so far. I will allow it." It was amusing seeing the stoic Priest try to convey excitement. She shifted her weight to her other foot and even smiled briefly. Cute. " – Make sure to return him in one piece. His safety is as much your responsibility as yours is to him."

"I would never let any harm befall him." she dips her head in gratitude. Hecate lingers until the Assassin dismisses her, to which she more than happily made a beeline towards the captain's quarters.

Once more alone, she ponders. In this day of unity between man and alien, should she not pay a visit to her brothers? They should stand in unison than pettily divided. She did not know what would make the Elders more proud than them working as one rather than three separate entities constantly fighting each other.

It was a nice thought, but merely just that. The last she saw of her older, she murdered him. One death against the hundreds he'd had, but she wasn't keen on seeing his face so soon after something like that. As for her elder – as fond as she was growing towards him thanks to the lessons provided in psionic control and his invaluable advice, there was only so much of his prophetic speeches and grandiose mannerisms she could take. They were polar opposites: he was built for ceremony and she for practicality.

Rising from her platform, she paced to the display stand in her chambers, neatly letting her katana rest upon the hooks. Whilst she intended to spend the day in silent, reverent prayer to her masters, she was aware that not all creatures on Earth looked kindly upon this unification. Anyone who dared take advantage of the celebration would damn themselves for an eternity of suffering.

She was still bitter that she did not kill Pratal Mox. His injuries were grave, but treatable. At the very least, she would have set the Skirmisher's plans back and could reliably expect that they would not risk striking this day. The Reapers, or other splinter resistance cells, were a different story entirely.

Could she rely on her brothers to actually perform the duties required of them? It seemed like asking so much. She sneered.

She will retire for prayer .. and then attend this speech.

* * *

"Perhaps I should skip the ceremonial armour. What if there are Generals present? Or worse, Archons? It's too misleading."

Hecate planted her hands on either heavy pads of his shoulders, stalling the captain's rambling nonsense. Give an ADVENT even an inkling of free thought through the current directives and they run their mouth like a motor. She might've been irritated, had she not found it far more endearing. Although she cannot see the armour in question, the design templates existed within the Network. She had an idea of which set he was speaking of.

Red, shiny metal with golden trims lining the seams of the armour, as well as coating the ADVENT symbol a bold gold. A full-length cape with the same logo printed in yellow to contrast with the red fabric and a smart ceremonial rifle that had no practical function other than to match. The alloys were weaker than standard issue ADVENT armour, but allowed for more customization for special occasions such as this.

"I don't think **Archons** are going to be deployed in the _mostly human_ megacity centres, Fiducia." she murmurs, fussing along with his own fidgeting until eventually a soft sigh escaped her. "You're going to rustle your cape if you keep skittering like a newly activated soldier."

"I look _ridiculous_ in this thing."

Hecate's hands press together in prayer. "Elders," she beseeches. "Give me patience. Because if you give me strength I believe I may end up throttling him."

"You only say that because you can't see me, my love. I'm a defense captain, not a – "

"Yes," she cuts in before he has a chance to add further complaint, "A defense captain representing our Chosen in her stead. Do you want to appear as nothing more than a foot-soldier to the world, weakening their vision of our Chosen?"

" … No."

"Good. Then you will wear the armour without any further complaint."

Fiducia relents, though he swaps the rifle for his more useful bullpup and slips his stun baton underneath his cape. Now that he was finally ready, he rejoins Hecate's side and allows her to entwine their arms together, at least whilst they still remained in the stronghold. Bonds between captain and Priests were common, but seldom did they overtly _display_ such a thing. The seclusion of working within the Chosen's base of operation had it's perks.

He lead her towards the transport ship already packed with soldiers under his command. Assisting her up the ramp, he double-checked her harness before deigning to stand and hold the overhead strap.

* * *

As the evening broke over the globe, the large mounted monitors and display screens hooked onto proud ADVENT buildings shifted into life. They ran their propaganda at all hours of the day, never ending imagery of alien and human cohesion, or prosperous scenarios of ADVENT soldiers working hand in hand with humanity. Rarely, the mysterious and arcane shots of the Chosen flickered in and out. Some saw it as a peaceful sign of vigilance – others, a stern reminder.

The broadcast settled for the most popular news channel (though ADVENT owned all channels and all media, content and production) with a female news anchor surrounded by their language. Citizens are often encouraged to learn it; children are made to take mandatory lessons where they must achieve a pass, though it was deceptively simple. The news caster offered a cheerful smile as she announced;

" _Excitement continues to build as city centres across the globe prepare for the twentieth anniversary of Unification day._ "

Indeed, those fortunate enough to live within the United Kingdom's megacity would get to witness the Speaker's broadcast live. Organization for the event had already been weeks in advance, and the security of the city steadily increasing. The podium was seen somewhat of a tourist attraction, though seldom were citizens allowed to travel to the other megacities – only specialized personnel such as scientists often seen travel.

Now as the events begin to unfold and the countdown to the Speaker taking the stand and issuing his speech, soldiers swept in to line the streets. Vehicles were extensively searched – and checkpoints erected closer to the event site just to make sure no vigilante got the bright idea of assassination. Officers stood imposing at the lectern's sides, with troopers at the podium's flanks and barricades to keep the crowd a good distance away from the Speaker himself when he turned up.

The channel shifted to another, more international based one. The blonde haired newscaster, backed by images of the checkpoints and citizens filing in would have looked grisly in any other context.

" _Thousands line up at the sight of the Great Accord, celebrating the formation of the ADVENT Coalition_."

The dropship decelerated at a clear pad for arriving ships, allowing Fiducia and his company to merely drop down, though he always assisted Hecate in the descent. When he was certain her feet were safely on the street floor, he slipped his hand reluctantly out of hers and surveyed the scene. Citizens whom arrived early for the speech witnessed their arrival, no doubt stricken with the decorations of his armour that denoted his true rank.

Several lower ranked soldiers proffered their salute to him, though all were required to offer the same level of respect to the Priest. Hecate tried not to stumble a little in her steps – the sheer volume of psionic signatures she could trace muddied her 'sight', or at least how she utilized her powers to see. She kept a mental link to Fiducia, using him as her eyes to guide her as they marched to provide additional support for the Speaker's security.

The screen shifted. A male reporter adjacent to archived footage of last year's speech began to play as he read; _"On our nineteenth anniversary of the Unification Day, our Speaker issued this statement regarding your concerns of rogue, criminal elements, which, additionally, criminal activity has been pushed back to a resounding one point fifty-eight percent across all megacities."_

The archived footage continues to roll with the Speaker taking the stand much like how he would do so soon enough. He leans on the lectern, voice confident, far reaching and importantly; charismatic.

" _A small number of dissidents again repeat the mistakes of the old world. Striking as we celebrate a benevolent saviour who time and again offers only friendship and compassion. Yet these trivial actions could never break the bond between humanity and the Elders!"_

Hecate's head jerks towards the rooftops, violently sudden enough that Ficudia regards his companion with concern. She stares, distantly, before slowly returning back to him. "Our Chosen is with us."

His gaze travels to where she had indicated, but he saw nothing but starry night sky and the illumination of the megacity's neon lights. He straightens up, now no longer slack and idle. "Perhaps she wishes to observe the celebration? It _is_ her first time."

The Priest stalls, but ultimately concedes to return looking outward to the growing crowd, trying to ignore the overpowering psi-signature of her Chosen.

The screen returns back to the primary newscaster, smiling at the camera and to the millions watching the broadcast; " _– and remember, the ADVENT Administration implores all citizens to report any suspicious activity to your nearest Peacekeeper._ "

A sleek black vehicle escorted by vans front and behind and officers on motorcycles to the sides arrived at the stage, much to the growing crowd's delight. Soldiers moved in preparation of the Speaker, reinforcing the barricades by standing post with rifles' muzzle pointing to the floor – a visual reminder that they were armed and readily willing to use them.

The doors peel back to reveal the ADVENT Speaker, addressing the crowd with a charming smile of perfectly white, straight teeth and casual, respectful waves as the noise raised, some clapping in praise or talking among themselves excitedly. Perhaps the pride of the Elders' extensive genetic engineering, aside from the Chosen themselves; he was so believably human.

Until one took a closer look at the scars on his neck from how tightly suppressed the venom glands were. Thankfully such things were often hidden away with a raised collar.

The Speaker took to the lectern. Already cameras from news stations turned to face him, projecting the speech globally. He raises a hand to quieten the crowd before it drops to gesticulate his words with grand and firm gestures. "Twenty years." he started, and now humanity truly falls silent, the world's eyes and ears on him.

"Twenty years," he repeats. "I have walked up these steps to stand before you as but a humble speaker. Twenty years, you have listened to the love that the Elders have to offer you, the adoration they only wish to share. Listened to me address your concerns – your worries and in those twenty years!"

He pauses. "We have made sure that not a single soul that have reached out to us has gone unheard. That the outlying humans that still remain skeptical to our Elders' gifts are always given a second chance, that we understand! We have ensured that we have lived these past years in peace and prosperity under the Elders' compassion for us!"

"But you ask of me, your fellow man – what do we truly have to show for it? Those among you who look upon our broadcasts with apprehension. Crime rates are down, not a single mouth in our city goes unfed, but it's not enough, no, no. We made a promise to humanity." He straightens just in time for the broadcast screen behind him to spotlight a white clinic, previously unknown.

"The Elders intend to fulfil that promise – so I am proud to announce that the end of _this_ year, **twelve** new gene therapy clinics will be opening across the globe in advance as breakthroughs have been made to eliminate _fifteen_ previously incurable diseases in our children!"

The crowd erupted into applause, drowning out the Speaker's words in uproarious cheer. He settled back, surveying the admiration and awe stricken across the face of humanity. He allowed them their moment of praise to the Elders, holding his smile before he continued as they were ushered to silence.

"Citizens of ADVENT, I ask only one thing of you." he waits just long enough before smoothly saying; "I ask you to make the Elders' proud and strive towards _another_ twenty years. Only your actions today can effect the results of tomorrow."

As the Speaker wrapped up his speech to humanity's adulation, a splinter of it disagreed in the form of a deafening explosion that chained the series of ADVENT vans stationed as road blocks. Praise turned to fear, screams of joy turned to terror. Officers at the podium acted immediately, ushering the Speaker out under heavy security before the rest of the troops began to investigate.

Jax-mon, once her senses returned after the all-too-loud explosion, looked over the smoking, burning wreckage of vehicles, rising from her perch on the rooftops. She had been enraptured by the speech and she cursed her lack of attentiveness. Was this not why she went to attend in the first place?

"My work is never done." she muttered to herself.

* * *

They felt the loss before the realization really had time to dawn on them all. The delicate infrastructure of the ADVENT Network ripped asunder as a core part of it was stolen, torn free. It snapped across the mind of all soldiers, all creatures under the Elders' rule.

The Network would never fail them, no, but missing packages, logs and files flooded into the minds of soldiers so dependent on it's relaying orders. Troopers were rerouted to follow the Officer's return messages as a failsafe without the Commander's subconscious, whilst the Officers and more complex templates of obedience were struggling under the new, additional workload.

Which meant that Fiducia's command of a modest twenty he'd arrived with suddenly expanded to _seventy-five thousand soldiers_ , which was the total of the United Kingdom megacity's ADVENT peacekeeping force. A good twelve-thousand were Officer or General sub-directives, which thankfully alleviated some of the pressure put on him, but he still had to monitor them. As it turned out, the defence captain to a Chosen was _indeed_ a higher rank than a General.

All in all, it accumulated in one _massive_ headache that had knocked him to the ground, clutching his head when it happened.

Hecate didn't fair much better. Priests were considered on the level of command units, though were rarely ever given duties that had them leading pods in the way Officers might – in any case, with the way the Network was structured, it was more than obstructing to have the confused thoughts of her fellow sisters titter in her mind. She wouldn't have expected that her bishopric would be gained through a crisis.

Everything stabilized in a matter of seconds as the Network corrected itself to handle the lack of the Commander. Fiducia groaned, hands cradling his helmet and wishing he could remove it to massage his temples. He staggered to his feet after he finished sending thousands of commands to his newly acquired force before more permanent leadership could be transferred.

"My sisters have calmed now," the Priest whispers, also clutching at her helmet and righting it with a terse sigh, accepting Fiducia's outstretched hand to get back on her feet. "T-that was.. The Network.."

"The Commander." grimaced the captain in confirmation. He tried calling upon that direct line to the tactical archive, but was met with nothing but errors. "They must have used the explosion and the priority safekeeping of the Speaker as a distraction."

He grunted. No point dwelling on the how. " – Officer ' _F1521B'_ and her squad at the very least did manage to detain a human. Resistance by the lack of citizenship ID. I've ordered her to bring the prisoner to me. Can you still perform your duties, Hecate?"

"Yes, I've relinquished the bishopric to the Chosen Warlock's deacon, who thankfully was also present for the speech. I don't think I could have taken much more of my sisters' prayers obscuring the song of the Elders." she tells. " – I will coax the secrets out of this human."

They relocated away from the city centre, to areas marked restricted to citizens so that their work would remain unhindered and unseen. It took little time for the Officer that Fiducia mentioned to arrive, bringing the dissident along with her.

He looked to be a man in his thirties, with wild eyes casting about as he furiously struggled against his bonds, blood and other injuries marked on his person. He was forced to the ground when the butt of a trooper's rifle slammed into his spine. He cried out in pain, crashing to the street floor. He was righted and shoulders held back to cease his struggling when Hecate drifted closer, kneeling to be more at eye-level.

"G-get away from me, you crazy bitch!" the man spat, his struggling intensifying. Hecate was undeterred by his foul language, halting Fiducia's counterstrike with a mere motion of her hand. She tilted her head, staring in the direction of the voice.

"Shh. I'm not going to harm you." she said, letting her psionics wash over him in gentle suggestion, persuading – comforting, than forceful. Her psi-energy welcomed him with open arms and the human's violence seemed to simmer a tad. "I want you to answer a few questions for me.."

"I won't.." he panted, looking awfully confused as he tried to resist the mental coaxing. "I- I won't.."

Colour drained from his face, before his eyes – once a natural blue – were now dulled as a muted lilac flecked in the pupils, fully under the Priest's control.

Through this captured Resistance member, Hecate discovered a number of interesting things.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rubs my hands] Okay, so, some notes.
> 
> The bond described within the chapter between Hecate and Fiducia is sort of like the ADVENT version of the bondmate system within XCOM-2 - and also explains how the Priests are able to use the "Holy Warrior" psi-ability. The bond's purpose is to allow easier and more mutually beneficial mind-melding, because I see psionics as something that has incredibly messy results if it's brute forced. I don't want to go into any more detail than that, because it's already foreshadowing as heck as to what's going to happen to them. Or is it? Hmm...
> 
> Secondly - things are just kicking off. I'm happy to say I'm really proud of chapters 8-10 and hopefully that will show in my work. As much as I want to have the Assassin in the spotlight at all times, for the narrative I want to write with her overarching story, it needs to include the things around her too. She has some select thoughts about the events of Gatecrasher next chapter though - so stay tuned


	8. Supplication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore the chapter spam, just making sure I'm not lazy and finally reupload the remaining chapters.

Their pull was intense, an interdimensional hand reaching out and clasping over her, dragging to the bowels of the world. Jax-Mon came willingly, submissive within the psi-energy of her masters. Her eyes closed – basking in the raw power, the familiarity of Them, enveloped like a babe in a blanket. It was over all too suddenly, too soon and she sat, cross-legged upon the biomechanical platforms of Their architecture.

She breathed – exhaled.

Her eyes flutter. Fervently blocking out the conflicting, _ugly_ life signs of her siblings, instead reaching out for Them, the faint presence that lurked, too bright to be masked. She feels herself lulled in Their presence, her body always so wound and tense from reflex now sags relaxed. She doesn't care how exposed this leaves her, how vulnerable she was in those brief, few seconds.

"It would be _so_ easy..."

Five seconds of peace. Five seconds was all she was granted in the security of the Elders, now broken by her brother, the older's, outspoken musing. She vanishes from the mortal realm and she hears the low, impending hum of the Darklance's targeting system realign to the dimensional plane. By the time he could correct himself to face her, she already slipped out of the shadows, blades pressed to his neck.

Dhag-Mai's gaze bemusedly follows the length of the blade until he turns his head just enough to appraise her out the corner of his eye. Fully recovered from her attack prior, he was no less insufferable now as he was then.

" – Good to see you again, sister," he purred in greeting. "You know, I _usually_ inflict a **thousand** times worse to those who make me suffer, but, seeing as you're family, I think I can drop it down to.. seven-hundred and fifty."

He barely bats an eye as her shorter blade dragged closer to the skin of his neck, the slither of sharpness threatening to slice at the hollow of his throat. " – Honestly. This is the first thing you greet me with after murdering me in cold blood? You're _heartless_."

"Takes one to know one," she spat, undeterred. "Did you think I was going to prostrate myself before you and beg for forgiveness?"

" _ **Well**_ , now that you've mentioned it … "

"Restrain yourselves." came the incensed grumble of their elder, stepping up the small steps, the energy of the transportation still lingering so prevalent in his gauntlets, as if they collected the power for his own use. There was a certain fanatical light to his eyes, though lucidity remained with him, much to the youngsters' chagrin. " – Lest you be restrained."

The Assassin stumbled back as the Hunter buffered her away with a surprising strength that indicated, yes, he _absolutely_ intended to fight now, rather than the lazily, pseudo-effort he often put into the spats and duels. She thanked the Elders' for her preternatural reflexes that allowed her to wrestle the muzzle of his rifle down before he shot their elder right between the eyes.

"No." she hissed. Their gazes locked in acerbic malice, the Hunter's far more abrasive and potent than she had time to foster. She was swift to explain before he continued to brawl; " – This is a sacred chamber. The Elders have brought us here for a reason – not so that we may pointlessly slay each other for in-the-moment gratification."

She couldn't gauge the Warlock's face, as her back was towards him, but judging by the shift of the Hunter's eyes to beyond her shoulder, and the curl of his lip, he was likely taunting him with a smug, slimy smirk.

Eventually the Hunter conceded, seeing as he was matched two to one and a semblance of a petty pout wormed it's way across the features of his face. "I see how it is. Gang up on the middle child. I still want it on record that you," he points to Jax-Mon " – killed **me** _first_."

She snarled at him. "I would gladly do it again if it meant to silence you if just for a second."

Dhag-Il, wisely, chose to ignore the Hunter's petulance, tipping his head towards his sister as he expected her to do the same. She quietened, instead drifting away from her brother to the centre brazier that seemed permanently lit with raw, psionic energy.

" – On that we are agreed, sister. Our masters would never call upon the three of us together, not without grave intention." He wandered to the platform that was engraved with his insignia, hands postured orans in reverence towards the Elders, who whilst silent, observed Their children.

Dhag-Mai casually strolled to his platform, lowering to a resting squat, regarding the centre in boredom as he was fully aware the Elders were present. He could _**see**_ Them, whilst his brother could hear and his sister sense. His head tilted as his previously childish frown twisted into a daring, urging grin. "Sounds to me like they're _**afraid**_ ," he made sure to look Them directly in the eye as he said that.

Alas, it was his brother that rose to the bait. " – How DARE you defile this place with your wretched tongue!" Energy gathered in his palms; the static in the air growing positively electrifying as well as oppressively thick.

Dhag-Mai had been the victim of many psionic burns dealt by his brother's hand, and he leered arrogantly, goading him on to try and burn him again. With his impossibly long memory and the latent pain that still lingered to this day, he'll know how hard to counter-strike when the time was right. "Oh, I _dare_."

The Warlock prepared to send his energy in a null lance as the Hunter reached for his rifle. Jax-Mon growled under her breath, readying to flourish her katana and step between the brothers about to duel when she needn't bother. A powerful flash blinded the siblings; a soothing, melodic voice falling upon each mind, tailored to what they wanted to hear. For the Assassin, it was a motherly voice, the first sound she had ever heard.

" _Our children._ "

It only takes a passing thought for her to slip into the shadows and appear at her platform – across from the Hunter – and knelt readily in supplication, head bowed, one hand splayed to the floor. Her brothers followed similarly, though her older remained to recline in a disrespectful crouch.

The image of the Elders materialized in the centre brazier. It was nothing more than an astral projection aided by Their intense psi energy, but it felt so suffocatingly real. Jax-Mon could hear her heart thump rapidly in her chest and in her keen senses, eyes cast down, chastising herself for daring to look upon Them.

" _Each of you posses Our strength. Our very life-force flows in your veins. Truly, you are Our greatest creation."_

Jax-Mon closed her eyes, relishing in the pride. It was not wrong of her if given by the Elders, for they were absolved of sin, beyond morality. Even the edges of her thin lips threatened to turn upwards in a ghost of a smile, thoughts swam with only love for her masters. Between the thrum of Their signature and the lull of Their voice she forgot the presence of her brothers.

" _Your task was a simple one."_ the Elders murmured. _" – the subjugation of all who would see Our grand design falter."_

They would see different images projected, but for the Assassin she witnesses the destruction she's already wrought, the corpses of freed ADVENT, the banners of Skirmishers rent at her blade. Her pride swells. Her masters had noticed her work! They were proud of her. All her worries, all her stress in lacking humanity, or her warpath to grow stronger seemed to melt from her as she assured herself too soon.

" _We have been proud."_ They confirmed. Wetness lined the edges of her eyes – until the soft motherly voice turned cold. _"Until now."_

Her head snapped up – ignoring the fact that her brothers kept their own down – eyes imploringly searching the projection of the Elders. The gravity of Their disappointment weighed like a collapsing star on her chest, silently beseeching Them for explanation. _What have I done?!_ She crowed in her mind. _Masters, please, I am still learning –_

" _Our greatest asset has been lost – whilst Our strongest did nothing!"_ Rarely did an Elders' voice emote so harshly, but the raised inflection felt like her own katana had impaled through her. No, no! She did do something! She was there on the night of it's execution, seeking to rectify it! But it wasn't good enough.

She failed Them.

A breathless wheeze left her as her hand curled into a fist. She may have even spoken aloud, regardless if her brothers take to seeing her as desperate when Dhag-Mai's mumbling echoed clearly throughout the chamber.

"Thought you were the strongest."

The Elders' wrath was as instantaneous as when the Hunter spoke; the soft, mulled lilacs shifting into a searing orange as power slammed upon the Chosen and forced him prone under Their strength. A strangled gasp was all that could be heard above the roaring suppression, fingers clawing at his platform as unimaginable pain spread throughout his person, like his very cells were being destroyed under the intensity.

Jax-Mon, for once in her short time of existing, felt pity for her older brother.

" _Arrogance! Defiance!"_ the Elders cried in wailing howls, screeching into the ears of every creature present. Both she and Dhag-Il remained silent, though from the corner of her eye she could spot her elder's visage wreathed in cruelty.

" _You who test Our patience, Our tolerance! Imperfect child of Ours, you can be reclaimed and your corruption purged!"_

The Assassin almost considered pleading her masters to be more compassionate – Dhag-Mai struggled to even breathe, body twitching in spasmodic rhythms like a constant electrical current ran through every sinew. Not every child of the Elders were equal. They should not expect him to be like her.

Either the Elders read her mind, or They came to a similar conclusion, for the power lifted. The Hunter twitched still, body curled upon itself before he remembers that there were his siblings still there. Through sheer will, he wobbled back into his crouch, though his hand noticeably supported himself.

" … _Yet perhaps,"_ They mused. _"You can be redeemed. Perhaps.. you may ALL be redeemed."_

Once again, Jax-Mon was swept back into a state, visions unfolding upon her mind's eye of the future that lies ahead. It spelled certain doom, but it granted the Chosen an insight to the truth. The scope of what was happening in their masters' plan.

" _A greater battle lies ahead and with that, Our time on this planet draws to a close. Yet we need not abandon it completely at Our departure. One among you is surely ready to claim this world as their own."_

Her brows furrow. She did not want this wretched, miserable planet full of creatures that defied her masters. She wanted to be by the Elders' side, fighting as Their extension – Their tool of subjugation. But.. who was she to deny such a gift? If They wanted her to rise up and claim the planet, she will do everything in her power to best her brothers.

" _Return what was lost to Us."_ They needn't even ask. Jax-Mon will do whatever it takes. _"Return Our Commander. To the one who succeeds will be given Our everlasting favour. To those who fail.."_

They let the threat sit.

" – _You are Chosen."_ They remind Their children. _"Go now. Do not fail Us!"_

That tug, that horrible tugging sensation of dragging her away from the Elders' presence. This one, she resisted more readily, but ultimately succumbed to their power and was teleported out of the sacred chamber and back into her stronghold, as if she'd never left.

* * *

The first thing Jax-Mon did upon her arrival in her base was to call upon Hecate – the Priest answered the call and within moments she was standing before the Chosen, lips drawn into a thin, neutral line. Evidently, what she'd learned from the human hadn't sat well with her, but now that the Assassin had returned from the meeting with her masters, they could get down to business.

"Tell me what you learned." the Chosen requested. "Everything. Leave no detail left unsaid."

"The human told me many things, but useful information..? I'll leave that to your discretion." The Priest straightened, bringing up her datapad to interface with the Network and aid her presentation of intel; " – His thoughts were erratic at best and nigh incomprehensible to follow coherently, such is the way of those who abuse narcotics. In any case, I learned that he was a mercenary on loan from the nearest Resistance cell to the megacity. Cell-22 by our Network's registry."

Surveillance images captured by drones or Faceless infiltration units popped up on the monitor, showcasing the well-equipped Haven in question. It stood, only because it provided useful intel as a fairly active hub of Resistance activity. Once it outlived it's usefulness – or grew too powerful, a death squad would be sent to raze it.

"The operation, nicknamed ' _Gatecrasher_ ', was organized by a name that has not haunted us for twenty years." Surprise flickered across Jax-Mon's face as a sneer curled on Hecate's lips. The otherwise diminutive and docile Priest showing anything _**resembling**_ disregard was something to behold. " – John Bradford, Central Officer of the defeated XCOM project."

The Assassin frowned deeply. The operation secured them the Commander, who, twenty years prior, headed the XCOM as their military and tactical genius. They indubitably lost, but given Earth's state of preparation for an extraterrestrial threat, especially one so powerful and prevalent in the galaxy as the Ethereal empire, it was a surprise they even lasted a day, let alone a month.

And now Central, the man, who was just as readily known as the Commander to the Network given his tendency to provide additional tactical advice had resurfaced to spearhead a mission that had untold consequences for them all. ADVENT had grown complacent – soft, considering they managed to pull this operation off in the first place.

_Our greatest asset lost.. whilst Our strongest did nothing .._

_It will be short-lived,_ the Assassin promised. She will wipe squad after squad of misguided humans who believe they truly have a chance now that they have the Commander back. The knowledge she'd gained about humans from the magazines flickered in the back of the mind and she resisted the urge to scoff.

That is if they don't rip themselves apart from the inside. Humans had an explosive tendency to turn on friends, or let pettiness control them. How did the Elders ever see their worth when it was so enshrouded with people's callousness?

Better question, when did she become so bitter, so _disgusted_? It sat on her tongue like a tart taste, alongside a longing for that nothingness again. Her brother's guidance reminds her firmly, however, that this was a sign of growth, no matter how much she was beginning to disagree. She will use this revulsion to her advantage, lest she be consumed by it.

"Fiducia has reason to believe, now with the Commander in their possession, that a reformation of XCOM has been made, perhaps to unify the Resistance forces into one body." Hecate lowers the pad. " – But neither he nor I can tell for sure the amount of resources they have at their disposal, their personnel, or even their current objective. I can _speculate_ that they are currently lacking in manpower if they are siphoning soldiers from havens."

"A reasonable conclusion to make," the Assassin assents. " – But there are still so many things that are unknown to me. A direct attack to XCOM is impossible with the information I have now."

The Priest bows her head out of habit, despite Jax-Mon's insistence that she cares little for such gestures. "I apologize, my Chosen. The mercenary's cesspit of a brain was difficult to pull any sort of clarity out of. I feel.. _unclean_ , as it is."

"Where is this human now?"

"Fiducia executed him after the extended mind-meld sent the human into a seizure." she told simply.

Jax-Mon grunted. She would have liked to probe the human herself for intel, but if he was too weak to even withstand the tempered strength of Hecate, he most likely would have expired far sooner with her power coursing through him. Still, this was a head start over her brothers. The Warlock's flock had not been the ones to extract the information and the Hunter – likely did not care about the competition in the slightest. He'll drop by to kill now and then, if boredom strikes.

"XCOM.." she murmurs. "A project reborn from the ashes of it's failure, soon, to turn to dust once again. I will smoke them out by wiping out Cell-22. If there is one thing I have learned about humanity from their daring rescue of the Commander, it is a _reckless_ bravado to play the hero, even if it is twenty years late."

She was already walking away when she added; "Inform Fiducia that I will require a deployment squad and contact our agent in their midst. I want our arrival to strike fear into their hearts."

"As you will, Chosen."

* * *

"I lost a lot of good men getting that Commander of yours out of that tank, Bradford."

"Do you think I don't know that, Olsen?" A sigh cuts through the tension in his voice, tone lowering, though it never lost it's gruff bite, hardened after twenty years of survival. " – They knew what they signed up for. I didn't advertise it as an easy op. But I'm telling you, the aliens won't know what hit them now that we've got our best chance at fighting them back."

William Olsen, the patriarch of the Leicester haven, sat back on the wooden chair, rifle butt between his legs and a steady stream of cigarette smoke billowing to the ceiling. Being three decades Bradford's junior, his mind tittered in the back for him to show more respect than he was.

It was hard to, when he thought the man delusional and William had the unfortunate task of informing next of kin or families of their husbands or friends or father's death.

"You still haven't convinced me how someone who lost us Earth in the first place is going to win it back."

He couldn't help himself, he jumped rather violently, conditioned to react to even the slightest sound when Bradford's fist slammed onto the crooked tabletop and threatened to collapse the weak and uneven legs right from under it.

"Christ, John – !"

"You weren't even old enough to remember when it happened, Olsen." he snapped. "You didn't fight the First Contact – you have no idea what it was like twenty years ago, how unprepared we really was to face the alien threat. So instead of running your mouth and placing blame, learn a little history."

The haven patriarch raised his hands in a placating gesture, especially now they no longer rested on his weapon. "Peace." he grunted. "I just need more proof of how much of a fighting chance we really have before I commit resources to your guerrilla force, Bradford. Somehow I've got to pull food out of my ass to feed another three families scheduled to arrive in the haven later tonight and supply your request, not to mention the state of our weaponry."

"I can offer a trade," the former Central Officer proposed, leaning on the table and palming his steel flask. "We just need a few ration boxes to last us until next contact. I can get Shen down here to repair your arsenal using our materials and teach a few of your men how to fix them up in the future. Then, when we've begun to establish a network of Resistance cells, we can airdrop supplies and necessities."

"I need a timeframe," Olsen groused. "My outrunners are turning up less and less every week as winter's setting in. It's a huge risk to blindly accept – "

He was silenced as the two-way radio spluttered into life. He snubbed out the cigarette onto a bit of clay purposed as an ashtray, reaching over to the device and clicking it. "Papa Wolf here. Report?"

" _– They're – Everywhere!_ " the frequency crackled, desperately trying to stay live as disturbance threw it out of sync. " _Oh my G … they … just appeared … sort of cloaking? ADVENT!_ "

"What?!"

A rumble of what felt like an earthquake tremored throughout the compound, with the two men clutching at the table to steady themselves as it rocked the foundation of the shack. Soon enough, screams arose above the din of transport ship's ominous humming, followed shortly by the distinct puncture of magnetic bolts cutting through the air.

Fear of this day always followed William, who distantly knew that it was only a matter of time before ADVENT came to wipe them out like they had done so many camps prior, but never did he think it would happen so soon, so _sudden_.


	9. Butcher

It took much out of Jax-Mon's power to expand her psionic shroud to include three transport ships, but once the piercing screams of humans sounded the song of battle, it had certainly been worth it.

The haven was prepared for their death squads at any time, but for such a sudden, surgical airdrop, planting the enemies directly into the heart of their camp rather than the designated kill-zones of their expectations turned their defense upside down. The anti-aircraft artillery, which was the pride of Cell-22's arsenal, was now useless when directed towards empty drop-ships.

Armed members scrambled to stabilize the situation as droves of troopers marched through the dirt paths, shooting anything in sight. They were taking no-one prisoner this day and they killed without prejudice or distinction. Soldiers, civilians – weak and infirm. All were to be culled under the scythe of ADVENT.

The Assassin strolled through the chaos of the unfolding destruction, weaving around fleeing humans, ignoring the cries of children separated from their unit. Her mind was dead set upon the task at hand – and until XCOM reared it's dour face, she would remain content in the shadows, lurking, seeking.

Fiducia attended this retaliation strike as an eager request on his part. He, much like her, longed to fight, to simply battle if not for anything other than to prove himself. The combat was exciting, exhilarating even, and the closest thing to entertainment the soldiers bred for war could get. He directed the legion of troopers with a mere thought and focused most of his efforts into the skirmish.

A panicked soldier fumbled with his grenade as his shaking hands tried to pull the safety pin with ADVENT advancing upon him. Fiducia launched his grapnel and the strangled screech of the soldier confirmed a direct hit. He pulled the man close, silencing him for good with a slash of his wrist-blades across his throat.

Another armed soldier bolted towards a select few civilians hunkered down, too frightened to move. She reached out to the crouching woman. " – Don't worry, ma'am, I've got you. All of you, follow me to.."

The soldier's voice trailed off as the woman she'd touched jerked violently, body convulsing with a sickening snap as her spine jutted out in angles that were not humanly possible. Fear and confusion rooted the soldier in place, rifle trembling as the skin tore at the seams, bursting with alien liquid that collected into a pool. It continued to twist and spasm as something far larger than the woman began to emerge from it's prison, and it dripped with wet clay-like flesh where the features of what should be a face seemed to melt and blur into nondescript horrors.

Now free, the Faceless creature towered over the soldier. Elongated talons stuck into the nubs of it's arms, which proved to be able to cut through human and kevlar like ribbons as it swiped at her and the civilians huddled around it.

Jax-Mon reached out to Fiducia through her psionics, and the first thing that hit her was his catharsis through the bloodshed. Had she been lesser, she would've been drowned in the sea of adrenaline. But she waded through it with ease, questioning simply: _Any visual confirmation?_

He unleashed an incendiary grenade towards a nearby set of huts off to the left side, the explosion reverberating through the ground enough to knock some of the weaker, unsupported structures askew and set ablaze a roaring inferno that quickly began to spread upon perishable materials before he finally addressed her. ' _Not yet, my Chosen. The skies are clear and the west side is completely demolished. My legion is advancing northward.'_

_Then I shall take to the east._

As the Assassin took to search the eastern section of the Resistance cell, the patriarch emerged from his building brandishing a machine gun cannon that he'd traded from his all-purpose rifle. A newly lit cigarette clenched tightly in between his teeth, adding to the acrid smoke that collected and hung in the air. He looked down upon the advancing ADVENT forces with a dread that wrestled with a instinctual, primal need to protect his encampment.

"Burn in Hell, ADVENT bastards!" were the words of his war cry as he unleashed his cannon upon the forces below. The bullet fire was spread, but with more than enough targets, he begun to mow down chunks of troopers. Some persisted even after bullets lodged into their decidedly more reinforced alien armour, but it was only until death befell the first ADVENT soldier did it snap Fiducia's attention directly onto William Olsen.

A quick internal command prompted the nearby Shieldbearer to empower their armour with a shield that made it far more difficult for the conventional cannon to chew through their defense. The captain, meanwhile, charged through his ranks, pointing his wrist launcher at the haven patriarch, intending to yank him out of the high cover. The grapnel shot forth –

– only to be parried by a swiping strike of a machete. John Bradford, for all his age, was still a ranger at heart and some skills were never lost, such as the way of the blade. He flourished it with a lot less finesse than Fiducia's Chosen, but was nevertheless deadly. His face twisted bleakly as it seemed every enemy present zoned in on their location, or more specifically, **_him_**.

" _Helbete betal, Vox Prima!_ " the caped Captain called and whilst Bradford never bothered to learn the alien's language, he believed he understood the gist of what he was saying.

"Get out of here, Bradford!" Olsen spat, feeding more bullets into his weapon, kicking off the spent caps on the floor and righting the cannon. It already strained on his muscles, but he had to fight. It was either do or die.

"You must be crazy if you think I'm – "

"Don't try to play the hero." the patriarch was quick to snap, diving back behind the unstable hardwood, layered cover as Fiducia's bullpup nailed accurate bursts of bullets into it, narrowly avoiding him by inches. The man's heart beat so loudly he thought it probably could be heard above the bullet fire. He tried to steady his breathing as he sidled a glare to the older man.

"If my men died in vain getting your Commander back only for her to get recaptured this day, I swear, I'll haunt you and whatever remnant of XCOM survives **this** time around when I'm dead." he promised blackly. "So go! You've still got to prove to me that XCOM's worth it all."

Bradford's mouth pressed into a thin line of consternation, but even if he wanted to, he knew how unwise it was to argue at such a point in time. There was some truth to William's words, however cynically bleak. The longer the Avenger's ascension to the sky was delayed, the more chance the aliens had of discovering the ship and the Commander within.

With a heavy heart, Bradford relented. "Goodluck, William."

The haven leader's cannon spat out it's last few bullets. He discarded the useless weapon, instead reaching for his rifle yet again, taking shots at the ADVENT forces below. The bullets, however, just seemed to bounce off of the shields provided to them. It did not deter Olsen in the slightest.

John vaulted through the window of the lead building, intending to exit out the back and towards the canyon with the Avenger waiting in the maw below, unaware of Jax-Mon stalking him as his shadow just a breath behind.

The screams and cries of humans juxtaposed between the grunts and bellowing shouts of aliens was hard for Bradford to stomach, especially when they matched and echoed his memories of years prior. It felt like he was back there again, witnessing the horrors of the First Contact and the subjugation of humanity. It made him sick and bile tasted in the back of his throat.

He pushed on, for the sake of XCOM, keeping his head down, his dash measured enough that he was never too out of breath in case an ADVENT soldier was waiting around the corner. He didn't dare let his gaze linger more than a second on the faces of broken humans crowded in corners, too afraid to move, too weak to fight.

The dip in the canyon was becoming closer in sight, as well as the peak of alien machinery stationed at the sandy ground. Central jabbed two fingers to his ear, accessing the communications channel and barking; " – I want all XCOM operatives to pack up, break cover and move on the double back to base. We're departing in ten minutes, no waiting."

"Make that fifteen Central," the voice of XCOM's chief engineer, Lily Shen, murmured over the line. "We might have some slight problems. I can get them fixed, I'll just need a little bit of time."

Bradford wisely chose not to comment, lest his blood pressure skyrocket.

He spotted several members of the Menace team reluctantly departing from their task of assisting the haven to retreat back to the Avenger. Among them was Jane Kelly, whose anger, though justified, was caustic at best. Despite the tight time frame, she made sure the family she was protecting was safely on their way towards the wooded brush further away from the canyon before beginning to evacuate herself.

As he was about to join them, something bludgeoned the back of his head.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as well as from the area of injury. The blow was enough to knock him off his feet, skidding a few feet before stopping. He hissed sharply through his gritted teeth, eyes watering as vision blurred, hands instinctual rising to nurse his head. He tried rising way too soon, hit with a wave of dizziness that threatened to floor him once again.

Something cold and metallic pressed into his throat and began dragging him back. He struggled weakly, wheezing out a shout of protest and kicking out violently. The struggling, at least, seemed to halt the invisible being's attempts to restrain him. He wildly thrashed, limbs catching on hard material, but nothing that could stop what was happening.

The thunderous pop of a Vektor rifle firing cracked and Bradford was granted relief. He fell to his knees, heaving a great breath and furiously wiping at his eyes, risking a look behind.

He thought he saw something. A flash of red and black – but it was gone with the wind as quickly as it came. He blinked rapidly, before stumbling back to his feet and looking towards Outrider with more gratitude than he could ever express verbally. She ghosted over towards him, grabbing his arm and assisting him up as they both sprinted onward.

"Be swifter, old man," the Reaper liaison bit. " – More than just ADVENT stalks these grounds."

"What was that thing? It was like some.. invisible force …"

"Not now," she told, though by the trepidation in her voice, whatever she had saw worried her greatly. The fact that such an infallible woman like Elena could get worried did not bode well, Bradford believed. "It has been following you and you lead it directly to us. Go on ahead, I will make sure it does not set foot upon the Avenger."

He didn't appreciate her accusation and he silently made a note to speak to Volk once they were safe.

As the Reapers were suitably more equipped to handle such a threat, especially as he knew that Outrider's entourage lay in wait around the fringe of the camp, Bradford knew she would not allow herself to die this day. He clapped her shoulder in rapport, before hastily making his way to the ropes that descended to the grounded Avenger.

Dragunova wasted no time introducing herself to the cloaked creature, tracking it with her rifle and hitting a decent shot. It grazed, given the creature's unnatural reflex, but it did knock her focus askew that her cloak dropped. Behind the Reaper's mask, her face was taught with a pensive dread – another one of these creatures. The one they dubbed the Hunter was bad enough, but now _**another**_?

"No human has ever seen through my shroud," the Assassin hissed in surprise. Elena wasn't sure if that was an inflection of hatred or respect, but both were typically mutual feelings for her. The creature's head canted slightly, contemplating, before announcing; " – Finally! A worthy sparring partner! Do not disappoint me."

"I'm afraid I don't like to play fair." Elena stated coolly, despite her apprehension. She made fewer shots than a Skirmisher's saturated fire, but her aim was tighter and more focused upon the vital points, trying to strike at the thigh or underside of the arm where the plate did not cover. It took more than mere instinct to parry the rifle fire and Jax-Mon found the duel to be thrilling.

The Reaper had no intention to stay and fight her, backing up slowly with every controlled shot, trying to keep the Assassin on the defensive. Eventually an opening presented itself when she required to reload and once the firing stopped, Jax-Mon advanced.

Her arms ached as she was forced to use her weapon to parry the incoming swipe of her sword. The alien material cut deeply, rendering the rifle broken and unusable. Elena shoved it towards her, buying just enough time as the Assassin tossed it to the ground to brandish her combat knife and clash once again. She knew it was only a matter of time before an opportunity would allow the creature to strike at her true.

"Now, Dragan!" she commanded over the comm line.

Jax-Mon swiftly kicked Elena in the gut, forcing the Reaper away as she turned on her heel and deflected the shot of her companion. Flipping her short sword so that her hand grasped the bladed point, she reared back her arm and threw it with a deadly accuracy. The rising scream of a man indicated she'd hit, but her psionics informed her that he lived. It landed embedded in his shoulder, just shy of piercing his neck. How sloppy of her.

Smoke clouded her vision as the Reaper let loose a defensive grenade. Darkness was something she was intimately familiar with and had little issue navigating through the foggy shroud. She followed the psionic signature, but lacking mastery like her brother or tracking like her older, it was difficult to pinpoint whose signature was who. When she emerged from the cloud – she decapitated the civilian she'd ended up at rather than the Reaper she sought.

Great roaring engines drowned the din of terror and conflict, the wind whipped up in a fury. It blew the cloud of smoke away and Jax-Mon was forced to shut her eyes tightly as sand whipped up from the turbines at the Avenger's wings, if you could call them that. Her arm rose defensively, keeping her balance only just as the once alien cargo ship, now modified, hung in the air. She stared at the mobile base in a marvel.

So, this was humanity's greatest chance of defeating ADVENT.

What a joke. She will make sure the humans saw it lay in broken pieces as she shatters their pathetic Resistance.

Jax-Mon sprinted towards the airborne craft, only to stumble and pierce the ground with her blade to regain her footing when the ship reared and directed the turbines and engines towards the surface of the canyon. Gunfire from ADVENT soldiers that had caught up to this point seemed to ping pointlessly off the surface. No, something more powerful would be required to take this craft down.

The Avenger shot off into the sky, leaving nothing but a dying storm of dirt and sand in it's wake.

The Assassin rose and silently sheathed her blade, moving to collect the shorter one that she'd thrown. Oddly, she did not consider this assault a failure. The human's morale will be cut in half for leaving the haven behind, not to mention the lack of supplies as the only known Resistance cell to support them (that they were aware of) was razed to the ground.

She saw this day as a victory.

She resumed to cloak back into the shadows, watching her small army decimate the last bastion remaining within the cell, sitting atop one of their dilapidated watchtowers, legs crossed and meditation coming to her easy amidst the noise of war. She tuned it out, instead, listening to each beat of their hearts slow to a halt. A morbid melody, but one she found herself becoming lulled by.

Fiducia's call brought her out her meditation and when she opened her eyes, she saw her squad in formation perfectly behind him, standing at attention. The patriarch of the haven was bound and forced to his knees in a state of total disarray at the feet of her defense captain, whom offered her a snappy salute once her attention was his.

"All personnel within the haven has been exterminated, my Chosen." he informed briskly. "A few dissidents attempted to escape through the woods but were picked off by our snipers. We also managed to kill an XCOM operative. What shall we do with the leader?"

Jax-Mon knelt, staring at William Olsen. Blood caked his jaw and lined his mouth, one of his eyes swollen shut, darkened with a black circle. Hard lines defined his face, yet she could still determine that he was young. An infant, much like her, to the world at large. It was a testament to humanity's hardiness that the haven survived for as long as it did living under ADVENT's shadow when it's patriarch was a boy fringing into adulthood.

"Pity him." she mourns for his lost youth. In a perfect world, XCOM would realize the horrors that they self-inflict on the very people they claim to protect. They would relinquish the Commander and slink back into whatever void spawned them, so the children of the future may prosper. But, alas, nothing but her and her masters were capable of perfection.

Instead, she tapped into her psionics and delved into William's mind, extracting every little bit of information she could.

* * *

"Any updates on the status of the Commander?"

"Progress is slow," answered Richard Tygan, the chief scientist of XCOM, looking down to his datapad reflexively to confirm what he already knew. It wasn't the answer that Central was looking for, but Tygan had never been an emotionally invested man and could only offer the hard facts. At the very least, he did try to soften the blow somewhat with;

" – The procedure to remove the chip has been a success and her vitals have since stabilized, but she is otherwise unconscious. Being ripped from the ADVENT support system has no doubt had untold consequences."

"So, what, Doctor? She's not going to wake up?"

"It is unknown at this current time." At Bradford's look, he added; "I will keep you updated at the first signs of any development."

Both men's eyes were drawn to the door once the open frame was knocked, revealing Elena waiting, arms folded and mask clipped to her belt. Bradford dipped his head in respect towards her, before gesturing a dismissal to Tygan.

"Central." he murmured in respect as he left, pausing to offer the same towards the Reaper. "Miss Dragunova."

She didn't offer the same, but once the scientist was gone, she entered the Commander's Quarters proper, lowering her hood and shaking free her short cropped black hair and stood at the back of the couch. A tense silence permeated the air between them before it was Central's gruff tone that cut through first.

"Where do I even begin," he grumbled, before his hand strayed to nurse his bruised throat where that creature had gripped him. " – Maybe an explanation of what that **thing** back there was. I need to know what ADVENT has in their arsenal, and _invisible things_ weren't one of them last time around."

"She wasn't _invisible_. It was a psionic camouflage." the agent explained, though her tone did little to ease Bradford's fears. "But other than that, I have little idea of who she is and what she is capable of. She seemed to prefer close-quarter combat, but that does not provide insight to her full set of skills."

A pause, as if she debates revealing anything more, before she grunts. "My kind saddle a curse similar to her … we call him the Hunter, for that is what he seems to prefer doing. If there are more like him that exist and their resemblance was uncannily like siblings, then I fear our goals become even further out of reach."

"Lovely." The Central Officer sighs, kneading his palm into his eye to chase away the exhaustion. The humming calm of the Avenger did little to mask the vivid screams he still heard in the back of his mind. "And I'm guessing the Reapers know jack about this ' _Hunter_?'"

"Other than he is a master tracker and has never missed a single shot in all the skirmishes we've had with him." Wisely, she did not mention the fact that he employed Reaper tactics.

"A creature that never misses and another that _**might as well**_ be invisible. What's next, something with more psionic power than we know how to deal with?" He blanched after those words left his mouth and he prayed to whatever God existed that it wasn't the case.

He straightened up, putting a cap on his cynicism to instead run through the objectives needing to be done. "Alright, no more moping. Our first order of business is going to seek out more support."

"We have territory in the New Arctic." muses Elena. " – Perhaps you should speak with Volk."

Bradford gingerly nodded. "It's a start. Get him up on screen."


	10. Chastise

The Warlock was not concerned about the Commander settled within XCOM.

He had beheld a vision, one that he had seen time and time before, with the whispered voices of promise and assent of the prophecy he was fulfilling himself. He will rule Earth in the Elders' stead, his siblings blinded in marvel at his brilliance as humanity serves as his followers. The vision has not shifted, despite the current crisis and therefore he did not worry himself.

Creatures far older than he, wise things of the deep void assured him of his victory so surely. _Humanity cannot withstand such light,_ they said once. _Always the Icarus, never the Sun._ He was inclined to agree. Were it not for his Elders' adoration for the infant race of Earth, he would have taken umbrage the moment he was ascended. But They plead, They beg for him to be as compassionate as Them.

Humans were young and reckless – and it stood, that he, as the elder, had the prerogative to punish those who become out of hand. Sometimes, death was simply just a tool to school the others, as messy as it was for an example.

And none could stand to be punished more severely than the _Templars_.

His loathing bled so deeply into his repugnance for the splinter faction of humanity that had the cheek to believe they understood even a fraction of his masters' power. Let alone think they had the God-given right, the divine blessing, to use it! Never has his stomach turned, his rancor so apparent when faced with these blasphemous, immoral criminals.

Their false religion perverts the very practice of controlling psi-energy and he took the thankless mantle of teaching them their place.

The profane that had drawn his ire was a Templar knight by the name of Luminița Feng. She was no mere lost lamb straying just too far from her flock, no, she was the wolf on the hunt, slaying the holy, beloved servants of the Elders in her sacrilegious understanding. Already enough to warrant her death, he had decided that a swift execution was simply too light a sentence for _her_.

Had she stayed among the islands of the Templars, sheltered and away, she would have not attracted his attention. But boldly she set forth, encroaching on his territory like a false prophet. His servants snarled at the presence of such a godless being. He would make sure it does not exist for long.

They had a brief skirmish once before that the Warlock used to gain tactical knowledge upon her – despite what his younger brother may believe, he was not just a decoration or a mouthpiece of the Elders' gospel – and he intended to capitalize on what he learned. She is a paladin at heart, always putting the safety of others first before herself. He would find her where the winters were harshest, providing aid under the guise of benevolence.

He did not bother dampening his signature like his brother or hiding in the shadows like his sister. When he arrived, the world knew and looked towards him in awe. His presence was overwhelming to the mere mortals. It was a chore, really, to be so powerful. But he persevered, because none but he were capable of handling such power without it's corruption.

His clawed gauntlets raised to the air, channeling his energy to call upon the servants in his stronghold, summoning his left and his right hand Priests. The twins, Gabriel and Uriel, were among the first of his loyal servants and had earned his favour. They would be given the honour of subjugating the renegade knight.

Luminița's energy was easy to recognize within the dulled, non-Gifted humans. He did not sprint, or plan excruciatingly long hunts, he merely walked towards the source with his Priests at his heels, letting the mortals behold his excellence. They were dirty-faced creatures, huddled in their shacks as the haven was one of the less equipped and ill-prepared one of the bunch. There was no need for ADVENT to wipe them out when winter will do it for them.

A starved child sat in the way of his path, body shivering. The Warlock stopped before it, gaze cast downward in conceited superiority. As he was about to direct his followers to remove the creature in his way, the paladin's melodic voice caught his attention.

"Dhag-Il Vallinar!"

He sneered. How dare her filthy mouth defile his pure name? The child scrambled away from his path, unharmed, and he glared towards the imposing figure clad in plated, muted yellow. It was the first time he'd saw her without her helmet; with hard features and rough definitions. Her hair, at least what was left of it, was choppy and bleached white at the roots with her natural hair colour long since lost.

Feeling her power, it was a shame, really, that she fell to the path of the heathens. She might have made a decent Priest of his.

"And so the heretic stands before a child of the Gods once again." he drawled, gesturing before him. Contempt coloured the low rumble of his tone as he mocks; " – This time, alone. The ghosts of your failure must haunt you so, Templar. Submit before your superior and I may silence them for you."

"You are no Lord of mine!" she hissed in a shadow of his sister's malice, fury sparking in dull heather-coloured eyes. The anger stirred her power, the thin veins of psionic energy that crept up her neck now a vivid violet. "You presence is an affront to Mother Nature herself and I will be _glad_ , to cast your black soul back to the pits of Hell where it was spawned!"

His arms spread wide, as if inviting her to try, though energy collected into the palms of his open hands. "It almost _pains_ me to hear how ignorant you truly are, but, alas, is that not the birthright of mankind? To be entitled to such _incomprehension_ must be **bliss**."

"You are a delusional embodiment of affectation," Luminița scorned. "If anything, _I_ pity _you_ , Vallinar. You can't even see that you're nothing more than a puppet pontiff that ended up believing the lies he was forced to spread."

That struck a chord within the Warlock, whose pompous arrogance bled away to an oncoming outrage. It empowered his energy, the collected psionic attack mounting in danger. " – Impertinent little chit, I will see that your last breaths are spent grovelling before the Elders!"

Twin psi-blades shot out from the gauntlets of the Templar, brimming with raw energy that threatened to rival his own. Her eyes glowed with the use of psi-energy and she pushed off into a sprint towards him, bellowing out a cry in her native tongue. The Warlock prepared to lance her with the spear of energy –

He needn't bother with an attack.

Luminița cried out in alarm as something shot out faster than both she and the Warlock could register. Large bolas wrapped around her torso, binding her arms tightly to her sides as her sprint stumbled into scrabbled attempt at balance, gaze flickering downwards in panic. Then, in the span of a second, a scream of agony ripped from her throat as electricity coursed through her body from the trap shot. It took only a single glance for the Warlock to confirm them to be one of many of his brother's tools.

He snuffed out his attack, casting his gaze outward to try and find his sibling, but he was the one creature in the galaxy he could not track until he was right on top of them. Or, more accurately, curiously watching the writhing Templar as she crumpled to her knees, sat in crouch like how one might morbidly observe a dying animal.

The electricity continued to pulsate through the woman's body and she convulsed violently with the shocks. It wasn't enough to kill her or to knock her out, but it was _severely_ painful. She screamed her throat hoarse and any attempt to rise had her fall pathetically to the ground. The balls of the bolas were made of stronger stuff than iron and were heavier than anything she'd ever had to lift. Her mind seared like the electric fire licked at her brain every time she tried to call upon that energy.

The Hunter seemed to take some semblance of sympathy, because he announced; "You know, the trick is to _**stop**_ using your psionics. They're suppressors for psi-beings much more deadlier than you."

Either she didn't hear him or did not care, for she continued to wail in agony and spasmed on the hard ground.

"Brother." Dhag-Il greeted with a unimpressed murmur. "What an.. _unexpected_ surprise."

Dhag-Mai's gaze casually rose up to his elder, offering a dogged half grin. He knew he had interfered with the fight, but if there was anything in the known universe that could test his boundless patience, it was his brother's long-winded speeches and the preachiness of his enemies.

"You could at least _pretend_ like you're happy to see me, big brother." His look naturally wanders back to the fallen Templar, who had finally taken his advice and ceased her attempts at calling upon her Gift. Her blades faded out and the dark purples of the energy that snaked around her body like illuminated veins faded out to near nothingness. The Hunter made a mocking noise of praise.

" – The human actually _**learned**_. What a miracle."

"Unholy... cretin." she croaked, voice shot and armour smoking from the electrification.

"Your presence is never without a catch, brother." the elder muttered. He gestured towards his Priests, who need not any verbal command to understand his will. They approached the Templar, dragging her to her feet and ferrying her away to one of his prison facilities. Dhag-Il will deal with her later. Now alone with his sibling, he gestured for him to follow as the haven was hardly a place to discuss matters.

Surprisingly, the Hunter followed without so much as a snide comment. Suspicious.

"What have you done _this_ time?" he finally asks once they were well enough away, exasperated. His brother's face scrunched up into one of petulance, which usually meant one of two things.

"Why do you always assume that I only visit you when I'm in trouble?" huffed the Hunter. "Maybe I just wanted to catch up on what my dear old brother is up to. Doing your own thing, as usual. See, if _**I**_ did that, the Elders would hound me until I was deaf – "

"Get to the point, Dhag-Mai. I am not in the mood for your games."

He raised his hands in peaceful gesture, before his grin dropped to a sour line of contempt. " – It's about our baby sister."

Dhag-Il had heard the whispers of his followers talk about Jax-Mon's daring assault upon the haven that funded the greatest insult made to the Elders since the formation of the Templars. He had no faith in her abilities to succeed, as her focus was coloured with a vengeance to regain what was lost to her and he was certain that his brother thought as much too. However if he seemed concerned, then it didn't spell a good picture for the both of them.

He prompted for the Hunter to expand, which he readily did so.

"Whilst you are playing around with your little Templar buddies, our sister might _actually_ have a real chance of getting the Commander back for the Elders." Dhag-Mai never directly criticized, but it didn't take a genius to catch the veiled jibe within. "I've watched her. All of her battles. She might be a pathetic weakling now, but she's growing and that – _I don't like that._ "

"Do not presume to understand my work," the elder growled. He's certainly punished his sibling for less. "Bringing the Templars to heel is more important than you clearly realize. As for our sister, she will soften XCOM and they will be ripe for the taking. She should be of no concern to us."

"Sure." his brother disagreed. " – If you want the title of _family disappointment_ over me, continue to waste your time with the insane cultists. Underestimate our sister. That'll put you in the Elders' good-books."

With his gathered power, the Warlock clenched his fist tightly and the tendrils of psi-energy shot out like snakes, striking at his throat to silence Dhag-Mai. The Hunter stumbled back, hands clawing at his neck to try and swipe away the attack. His breathing came in spluttered chokes and it wasn't until was weakened to his knees did Dhag-Il elevate the pressure by unfurling his hand.

The Hunter blackly glared at him from beneath his hood – his eyes like twin chips of blazing fire. "Strike at me all you want to, brother. Kill me if it makes you feel marginally better about yourself, but you know I'm _right_. Why else would I have brought it to your attention if what I say had no stock?"

There were truth into Dhag-Mai's words. He never willingly involved himself into people's affairs unless he had more than a good reason to – and he certainly did not make social visits. There was always a purpose – always a plan, to his machinations. Dhag-Il's lip curled.

"Then what is it you expect me to do, brother? I have made it clear that ushering her to an eternal void is not in our right. It is our masters that must do as such."

"A beast is useless once you deprive it of it's essential limbs," the Hunter informs, a grin worming it's way across his thin lips as he no doubt already had the perfect idea of how to handle their little sibling problem. " – And I know exactly how to approach this kind of creature."

* * *

"There was a _reason_ beyond their state of fortification as to why we did not wipe out Cell-22 sooner, my Chosen. Now I have hundreds of thousands of humans wondering and fretting about the smoke of the razed compound, or seeking explanation of gunfire and terror."

Jax-Mon's patience may not have been as legendary as her older brother's, but it took a certain amount of it to be an accomplished assassin. The ADVENT Speaker, however, tested her limits beyond what she thought possible. She sat, awkwardly so, as the office's design accompanied more human visitors than alien, glaring at the exasperated grimace of the man.

"Is that not your duty?" she asks, balancing precariously on the cushioned chair opposite him. It might have been a humorous sight, were they not discussing her recently committed genocide. " – I fail to see the problem here other than your inability to do your task."

The Speaker withheld his sigh, instead his fingers steeped at the surface of his desk, appraising the Chosen carefully through the blue lenses of his glasses. "My duty is to ensure that humanity remains docile under the Elders' rule. It becomes difficult to do so when your actions threaten that balance – "

"Your difficulty in performing your task is not my concern."

She expected him to show some form of vexation, annoyance or – _**anything**_ , but he merely adjusted his frames once the left one updated with Network data she could only hope to guess was being fed to him. His tone dropped lower, now more gentle and coaxing.

"All I ask of you, my Chosen, is that you inform us prior before any major attacks." He paused, then added as an afterthought; " – You do not have to follow the same path as your brothers. Our Network stands to serve you, not to hinder you."

Jax-Mon snorted. She never considered that the ADVENT was anything else, but she had a feeling this speech was not the first time that it had to be given. She couldn't imagine her siblings tolerating the Speaker even a fraction of how much she had. Begrudgingly, perhaps it _was_ rather sudden of her to mount such a large scale assault without so much as consulting the Network.

The Assassin would not apologize, for in the Elders' name, she would move mountains and slay all that she needed to if it meant returning the Commander. But, perhaps, less haste – more tact. Something she could take from her older sibling.

"Very well," she conceded. "I will instruct my Priest to handle further communications between ADVENT and my plans. Is this an acceptable arrangement for you?"

The Speaker beamed, eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth peeking through a brilliant smile that has placated humanity for decade., But for Jax-Mon, his engineered charisma held little effect. " – More than acceptable, my Chosen. I couldn't have asked for anything better."

* * *

" _You are too trusting, John. The Skirmishers are ADVENT. ADVENT, is the enemy. The enemy – is food._ "

Bradford's knuckles whiten as he grips the terminal of the communications line, trying not to let his eyes stray towards the mounted figureheads of aliens that the Reaper leader had killed – and ate the rest of. He had to keep a level head when dealing with the volatile man, lest the fragility of the peace treaty they were working towards be crumbled by a few bad words.

"Try not to mention that when our agents meet up, Volk." he muttered, though if there was anything that was widespread knowledge on the Reapers, it was their dietary habits. Everything else they kept tightly under wraps to ensure that they remain as elusive as ever. " – I shouldn't have to remind you it was Betos' men who tipped you folks off to the whereabouts of the Commander in the first place. You trusted _then_."

" _I trusted that her intel was sound, not that I trust her or her band of traitors_." the leader rebuked. " – _All I'm thinking of is just_ _ **how**_ _long had they known where the Commander was and never acted on it? If they're truly fighting for the bigger picture, like you say, then they're doing a piss-poor job of it._ "

"You are the _last_ person to criticize the actions of another faction. We don't know how long they've known or even if they've attempted to contact you or us peacefully only to be gunned down by over-eager operatives. The Skirmishers are not the ADVENT we fight."

The video feed jittered as Volk moved, reaching over to his lit cigar in the ashtray and bringing it back to his lips, taking a much earned drag of it. Smoke filled the edges of the screen as he leaned into his chair, face barely illuminated by the light of his smoke and poor video lighting.

" _After everything we've been through_." he murmured. " _All we've endured. You really stand by that?_ "

"Would it make it more believable if I said _scout's honour_?" Bradford relaxed a little after dampening his snark, glad that the conversation was not escalating into their typical shouting matches with a threat of assassination and leaned away from the terminal. With his hands gesturing encouragingly, his tone dropped to a reassuring tenure.

" – Look. The Skirmishers held up their end of the bargain so far and I take Betos by her word. She's willing to send her right hand man to meet with one of yours to forge peace. We're all fighting for the same thing, Volk. Can I count on you to at least offer the same courtesy?"

Volk didn't answer for the longest time, taking another elongated drag of his cigar and blowing the smoke through his nose. He leaned forward, his look skeptical, but otherwise neutral. " _We shall see, John. Volk out_."

His fist slammed the table in finality, cutting the video feed off. Bradford exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd held, shoulders slumping. It was huge relief to have something go right for once, in the sea of bad news from the total decimation of their Resistance cell, to the Commander's lack of response.

Speaking of, Tygan seemed optimistic – a rarity in the stoic scientist – that the Commander would awaken sooner rather than later and Bradford couldn't help but share that optimistic hope, too.


	11. Pretence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short interlude-like chapter. The next few will be quite hefty.

"We miss you, sister."

It was unnatural for Priest to feel anything beyond merely a shadow of it's entirety and the fine-line between independent thoughts, emotions and complete, total obedience was some of the Elders' finest work. They had to account for the humanity's traits and eccentricities when designing a unit that would house a fraction of psionic power that They Themselves wield – and so compromises had to be made.

The design was always perfecting, naturally. They had more than enough genetic material to work with. Time, on the other hand, was not a luxury They could afford to waste. Some design flaws were of more critical importance to fix – such as preventing the chip's decay and thus denying the Skirmishers any further troops – so for the most part, the Priests were mostly left to their own devices, shepherded by the Warlock to ensure their docility.

Hecate, however, was not under the Warlock's guidance any longer, regardless of what the Network defined her class to be and working under the Chosen Assassin made her realize the importance of growth and the denial of it – so that they remain obedient – resulted in stagnation of one's abilities.

Therefore, the Priest, for the first time in her life since she was activated, felt _**mistrust**_ towards her fellow sisters. It was a strange feeling – like a caution of an imminent attack, but.. different. No direct physical danger was present that she could sense and yet the feeling of tense doubt ghosted her mind.

"You do?" instead questioned the Assassin's Priest innocently. The twins jumped at the chance to croon their unconditional affection.

"Prayer has never been the same without you. Your presence has always been a great comfort to the new kin." murmured Gabriel, the older of the two, though only by mere moments.

How the existence of _twins_ came into play, given how they were all created, was more of a novel concept than anything. They had been inseparable since they were activated and Hecate suspects that the same bond that imprints a Priest to their defense unit had carried over between the two somehow. Why it was never fixed would be a mystery to her – but they rarely saw any combat without their Chosen master.

"Plead with our Chosen, sister. I am certain he will see that you have atoned for your sin and allow you entry into his sacred temple once again. There's no need to be lost to us." added Uriel, though while younger, was no less apt in psionic prowess than her twin. The two made a formidable pair when it came to psi-strength.

Hecate's jaw clenches slightly. Right. _Her_ sin. Further mistrust began to fester within the Priest and with it came revulsion that settled uneasily on her stomach. She had never felt … what was the word? ' _Sick_ ' before and she was quite frankly wished that she never had. No wonder why her Wraithmaiden acts as so if she suffered the same when enduring the endless rage spawned from her mistakes.

"I am not _lost_. I have a master within the Chosen Assassin and I am proud to serve her." she informs matter-of-factually, though was daringly close in slipping and mentioning either Fiducia or her happiness. The twins' heads tilted towards each other, the closest to sharing a look they were going to get.

"She misuses your skills." quickly dismisses Uriel, with her sister humming in agreement.

"She doesn't know how to **properly** care for a Priest like _our_ Chosen."

"She's an infant. You are guiding _her_ more than she is for you."

"She's all swordplay and combat – not the reverence that a Priest should go for."

Oh, how quickly the twins would turn from piling sweet nothings and praise to viciously lambaste anything under the veiled psionic influence of suggestion if it meant that they got what they wanted. Or, more accurately, what the Chosen Warlock wanted, which is why Hecate's doubt only sediment like bedrock within her, too firmly in place to be shaken by their coercing attempts.

Had she not been wary of their ways, she could've easily fallen prey to their mental exhortations.

Instead of addressing that, she allowed an appropriate amount of vexation bleed into her soft-spoke tone as she snapped; "The Wraithmaiden is still Chosen and even if she is not our pontiff, that does not excuse the severe lack of disrespect I hear now. Sharing in love, that you will no doubt claim, is still blasphemous _**gossip**_."

The two sisters did not look chastised in the slightest, though they did steer away from continuing down that path.

"You sounded like a bishop there, sister." mentioned Gabriel, soft voice even lighter than normal as it shadowed a teasing edge. "If I recall correctly, a permanent position is still open.."

Hecate was finding herself growing increasingly annoyed with the conversation and quickly looked for a way to end it as fast as possible and decided that a curt response might prompt them to get to the point.

"If you continue to waste my and by extension the Assassin's time, I'll report you both to the Network. What is the purpose of your visit?"

Uriel straightened. " – On behalf of our Chosen, of course. His brother visited him during one of his operations, bringing with him whispers of a Judas. He wants the Assassin to know and to be wary that she is the focus of his next long hunt … and that she'll always have an ally within the Warlock. Her elder cares for her well-being and growth _deeply_."

That mollified Hecate, though her doubt remained, it was now wreathed in concern for her Chosen. Now it was beginning to make sense why the Warlock picked the Priests to visit personally rather than to merely send a message through the Network or even inform her himself: the Hunter tracks many things, but the idle chatter between Priests? _Hardly_. He wouldn't suspect a thing.

Trepidation set. How would she even react to being told that her brother – perhaps _brother_ _ **s**_ , she could not shake that the Warlock was not guiltless in all of this – schemed to conspire against her? Would she even be surprised?

In any case, her annoyance vanished. " – I see." she stated, masking her thought process. "Is that all?"

"Well, I'd like to pay a visit to Fiducia … " wistfully mused Uriel.

Hecate couldn't prevent the scornful frown that marred her lips as she grips the upper arms of both Priests, beginning to escort them out decidedly away from the defence captain's quarters. "Do not give me reason to have you both melted back into your primordial genetic code." she scolded, lacking humour in her very real threat. " – You are not above reclamation."

Once they got the message, they tugged themselves out of Hecate's grip, holding the air of satisfaction about them. The Priest waited until the twins had left the compound before returning to the control room, mulling over the new information.

Her head slowly drifted to a shaded corner of the room, frown easing back into neutrality.

"Your proficiency in masking your signature is coming along nicely, my Chosen." she states to the wall. "I believe, soon enough, you may even be able to hide from the Hunter's sight."

Jax-Mon's shroud dropped, flickering back into the mortal realm with a stony, statuesque look. Maintaining her focus to escape the twins' sight was one thing, especially when they spoke of their reasoning for their appearance, but to escape her plotting brother would be another entirely. She contemplated the conversation with cool contempt.

"You believe Dhag-Il is duplicitous despite their assurances." she bluntly said, having gauged the Priest's discomposure with ease. Her tone grunted with fact, surprise barely even rising a brow from her. If Hecate did not know any better, she would've thought the Assassin expected the Warlock's ill intentions of her sooner.

But the truth was far, far different.

"The twins are perhaps one of the most heinous tools of his extended will." supplied Hecate. "Had he sent any other, I might have believed that he did genuinely wish to warn you of the Chosen Hunter's plan. But gleaming their psionic influence.. I can tell what they were attempting to do, rather unsuccessfully, might I add."

A snarl threatened to curl the Assassin's lips. No doubt the Warlock expected that his information would turn her further to his side when in reality he was playing both she and the Hunter. She refuses to let the wool be pulled over her eyes. Yet her annoyance stemmed in these petty games of deceit. She would rather duel out her differences and let the better warrior's skills do the talking for them than waste time.

However if she did not play this game back with her brothers, she would be cast to the side, stabbed in the back when she least expected it. No more will she fail. No more will she let herself be deluded into thinking her siblings genuinely cared for anything other than their own despicable existences!

Had they nothing better to do than to fuel some unimportant rivalry when the Commander was out there? When the Elders' will was still left undone? Her thoughts turned inward –

How much of the Warlock's advice had been just, and the rest – to purposefully misguide her? Her anger stewed and then an abhorrence towards such feelings. It had been he whom suggested that her newfound discovery of emoting was a good development. From what she had been feeling, it was nothing but fire, and anger, and so, so much hatred.

It took her a moment to realize the _why_ behind the feelings. Hurt. She … was _hurt._ Betrayed _._ A cacophony of expectations and trust awash with pain and fury.

What had she done, other than to merely exist simply because the Elders' wanted to create her, to earn such ire? She gave them nothingness and neutrality and they returned with spite, malice and malcontent. She tried to match them, to be what they embodied – and was sickened to her stomach everyday with a longing for void. Yet at every opportunity what did they promise her?

Death.

"Chosen?" Hecate's voice snapped Jax-Mon out of her spiraling thoughts. She blinked, gaze narrowing to a seething disdain.

"I want to have no part in this ridiculous game that my brothers are playing." she began. "But I fear that it will continue on regardless of my input or not. So I will oblige for now, even if I have to drag their honesty from the very pits of Hell."

"A direct retaliation may not be optimal, especially if your elder is indeed involved within this plot." informed the Priest. Jax-Mon's lips twitched. She might have made an awful religious servant in the eyes of her brother, but she did prove to be quite the echo of the man who shared his name with his position.

"Indeed, which is why I am going to continue to focus my efforts on the task of the Commander for now. You, on the other hand, will return to the Warlock as he intended. As I told you once before, you are my eyes and ears. I need you to relay all that you learn from the inside."

Hecate looked nonplussed, silent, for the most part, until her voice tentatively raises in response. " – I am not a very good liar. If he even questions my loyalty once, it is indubitably yours, my Chosen."

"Then lie by omission." the Assassin mutters, but begrudgingly found herself glad that, in the sea of deception she was cast in that she had her soldiers within ADVENT that she could trust not to stab her in the back. " – I know I ask much of you, Hecate. But I would not entrust this to you if I did not think you could handle it to an acceptable standard."

Hecate weathered out a quiet sigh. " … Denying any task you set for me is not in my programming, my Chosen. I will go."

* * *

It seemed the Commander had progressed into some form of vegetative state – and Bradford's apprehension was tensely high. It was miraculous progress; however, from a coma to minimally conscious awareness. Tygan and fellow doctor Dawn continued to remain optimistic as she had plenty of time before passing that four-week threshold.

Her eyes were open and sometimes, when he sat at her bedside, he witnessed her eyes shift, as if to take in the sight of the room. It was unnerving, but he knew that she had little awareness, if at all, to the visuals around her. Sometimes her lips loosely formed a reflexive smile when he drifted into view. He liked to think it was her way of greeting him every time he swung by the sick bay.

"Just what were those alien bastards doing to you, Dot?" he mumbled to himself, falling back to old nicknames, holding onto some childish hope she'd suddenly spring up and yank his ear for doing so. It was affectionate in the early days and Dorothy Kingsley despised it later on when her professionalism got in the way. There was a reason almost everyone exclusively called her ' _Commander_.'

He'd yet to direct Tygan to delve into the mystery of the chip he'd yanked out of the Commander's head, figuring that the woman herself would like to find out _if_ she made a recovery.

**When** , he swiftly corrects himself. When, she makes a _full_ recovery.

He grumbled something about his age when he pushed off the chair and headed on up to the bridge of the ship. Moving from a moment of pensive silence sat with his vegetative old friend and superior to direct a high stakes mission that could very well define the rest of the Resistance was not doing any wonders for his blood pressure.

Greeting the technicians on duty with a dip of his head, he reaches for his communications device and slotted it into his ear. It was small, roughly the size of a hearing aid and allowed him a hands free access to speak with XCOM's soldiers. His voice crackled over all active lines and within the ship's intercom as he announced.

"Alright people," he gruffly began as way of greeting. Certainly not a professional way to rally his troops, but he doubts a chief XO or anyone on the barely existing chain of command was going to box him about the ears for it.

"It's been said before and I'll say it again: this mission is perhaps one of the most crucial one we've been on since the retrieval of the Commander. It _**will**_ define the Resistance, either success or failure, so let's not have any of our frags slip and ' _accidentally_ ' find their way at our friend's feet, Squaddie Webnar."

There was a murmur of withheld or uneasy laughter that rumbled within the bridge and over the radio. Morale was just as important as ever, especially considering the loss of Cell-22. Bradford tried not to dwell on it, lest he think on the propaganda that ADVENT already posted about it.

"Now we're playing peacekeepers – yes, Corporal Kelly, I know you hate that term – between the Skirmisher contact and our Reaper liaison. We will have two fire teams of two soldiers that have already been picked out and should be sitting pretty in Firebrand's bird as I speak."

" _All operatives accounted for, Central._ " the pilot's voice piped over the line. " _We're all set for flying._ "

"Good. Wraith-One," he addressed the team compromised of Corporal Jane Kelly and Squaddie Klaus Webnar, " – Your team will be meeting with Outrider. If she offers you unidentifiable meat, you damn well take the kebab, smile and say it's the best damn thing you've ever tasted."

A few more lighter chuckles drifted and Bradford let himself lapse into relaxation. Not quite, but, close enough, anyway.

"Wraith-Two," whom was CMT Lieutenant Dawn Lovett and her escort Rookie Lukas Vaun. Bradford would've liked not sending the only qualified paramedic and legitimate doctor they had out in the field, but with the lack of manpower, it was either her or him – and he very nearly overruled her.

"You get the pleasure of contacting our new friend within the Skirmishers. Now I know he might not look pretty when you get there, but that isn't an excuse to shoot. You'll escort him to the rendezvous point and meetup with Outrider and Wraith-One." At least, out of them all, he could count on their doctor not to make any rash decisions.

" – Goodluck out there. Firebrand, you're clear to deploy."


	12. Vigour

The world had undergone a metamorphosis when the leadership of ADVENT encompassed the globe. Monuments were toppled, tourist trapped cities were razed and language morphed to match their regime. There was no longer called _countries_ , or _counties_ , or even _continents_ – all of it uniformed into quadrants and sectors; patrol zones and restricted ruins. Some of the cities that escaped ADVENT's warrant of death were instead smoked out, leaving the area inhabitable, like a country wide Chernobyl disaster.

Such was the fate of New Zealand, or simply known within the Network as _Quarantine-64._ For the most part, ADVENT activity was non-existent within these ruins since they first invaded twenty years ago, which made it perfect ground to form a treaty between the elusive Reapers and their long-standing rivals, the Skirmishers. The ruins were said to be abandoned, although Dawn knew that dark, inhabitable areas seldom stay that way for long. Someone or something will find a way to live in it, be it adaption or otherwise.

Wraith-One's team had already been dropped off at the foot of the ruins after Dawn instructed them each to wear respirator masks. It may have been a quarter-life since those devices were said to have been dropped, but the last thing they all needed was an infection they didn't know how to begin to fight. The area was clearly still dangerous in some capacity if ADVENT hadn't swept in to repurpose it.

An open comm-line between the four agents and the bridge of the Avenger had been established which allowed Dawn to catch the tail-end of Elena's explosive response when Bradford finally decided to reveal the name of the Skirmisher's envoy; Pratal Mox. The man she would be meeting very shortly. Her escort, Lukas, looked quite pale once Dragunova detailed just a fraction of the crimes he had made against humanity, let alone ethical morality.

Of course, the factions had to send the two agents whom had a rivalry of biblical proportions – that even went greater than the scope of their splinter's hatred for one another. But that was why they, XCOM, were here. To put an end to it once and for all. They were all oppressed under the same thumb and Central hoped they could turn their animosity away from each other and directly to ADVENT in tandem.

Firebrand's ship began to decelerate once they arrived in the bowels of the mist-shrouded city ruins, the doors peeling back to reveal the sickly, ghastly scene below. It was like straight out of a war film with noxious fumes crawling at street level and putrefying the air a foreboding green. Dilapidated buildings, vacated shops, some even still full of goods that had miraculously survived the fallout, though more often than not it lay broken and degraded on the ground, back into it's contingent parts.

Securing the respirator tightly around the lower half of her face, she checks that Lukas' own mask was also fastened correctly before gathering the ropes in her hand and dropping down to the hazardous wilderness below. It didn't take long for her eyes to be attracted to the dormant, alien device embedded into the pavement with the scattered debris of road around it.

"It looks.. radioactive." Dawn speculates, suddenly wishing that they had access to full body hazmat suits rather than just the masks. But she supposed they could hardly fight efficiently within them. Her GREMLIN, nicknamed CAD-C, spluttered a small sound byte in agreement, displaying a very faint, mostly faded trace of radiation on it's monitor.

Doctor Tygan's voice drifted on the line, likely having came to the same conclusion on board the ship. " – _We are detecting a lot of trace elements of unstable radiation both present in the dormant devices and within the biological signals scattered throughout the city. I advise caution_."

" _You heard him, Wraith-Two. Move slowly._ " Bradford interjected. Dawn had no issue with taking a paced approach, though unfortunately, it seemed that the occupants of the abandoned city had a different plan in mind. The ground shook and threatened to send them off balance when an explosion rumbled ahead – coupled with the inhuman moans and shrieks of the Lost. " _– Contact, get down!_ "

Lukas ushered the CMT towards the shell of a totaled vehicle to use as cover, rifle muzzle pointed past the back light in anxious watch as the black smoke billowed from around a building's corner. A orange-clad ADVENT soldier emerged from the obstructing fog and he almost shot, had it not been for it's limbs flailing when it was dragged back into the unknown by a grapnel.

" _Approach cautiously, Wraith-Two,_ " directed Central. They did as they were instructed, rifles at the ready as they breached past the smoke. Bradford was quick to confirm before they take the soldier standing as a threat.

" _– That's our man._ " He paused. " _… Well, our contact, anyway_."

Pratal Mox stood impressively imposing, donned in red and white fur-lined power armour. From the autopsies of ADVENT's soldiers that Dawn had assisted Tygan with, she could tell from the degradation of his skin – particularly around the puncture wounds that spread from his jaw to behind his ear – that he must have been fairly 'old' for the life expectancy of their troops. Three, maybe five years at an educated estimation. Grooves and ridges seemed to line around his cranium in ritualistic patterns that they could only guess the significance of.

He stood over the orange-clad trooper, eyes scanning the dying sister with a calm expression. "Kracsad." he grunts without malice. The near-death experience at the hands of the Assassin had instilled a certain humility within Mox. Many painful nights were spent in quiet contemplation of his existence and his freedom.

" – ADVENT ' _puppet_ '," he clarifies as he was aware of the human audience behind him. Kneeling down to the soldier's eye level, he stilled her lolling head so that he may make a clean incision through her chin and access the implant within her.

* * *

**RECEIVING** , _PURIFIER_6400131-322A._

 **CHECK** , _PRIME DIRECTIVE_

 **PRIME DIRECTIVE:** _ELIMINATE ALL UNUSABLE GENETIC MATERIAL. REFER TO OFFICER_6400131_

**RECEIVING** _, PURIFIER_6400131-322A._

**CHECK** , _SUB DIRECTIVE 1_

**SUB DIRECTIVE 1:** _ELIMINATE ALL UNUSABLE GENETIC MATERIAL WITHIN QUARANTINE-64_

**RECEIVING** _, PURIFIER_6400131-322A._

**CHECK** , _SUB DIRECTI_

_**! ALERT, UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS !** _

_**PROTOCOL CODEX_FIREWALL TERMINATING CONNECTION …** _

* * *

"Sent here to.. cull the Draktan – the Lost." he speaks what he finds. He didn't poke around the Network too long or for any important files, lest he further draw the ire of the Codex firewall, but he did seek out her directive. "Her squad is.. nearby."

He yanks the ripjack out with a sickening sound of flesh and scraped metal. He rose, turning to address the green-faced Lukas and impassive yet steadily disapproving Dawn. If he was deterred or embarrassed by their repulsion, Mox did not show it. "She is free of the imposter Gods. I would do anything if all my kind could say the same, even sit down with your.. Reapers."

"Pratal Mox." murmured Dawn in a way of greeting, her conduct always keeping with the air of a stoic surgeon. Mox unclipped his helmet from his utility belt, masking his hybrid face from their view and stepping forth. His gait was strong like the captain he used to be before becoming Betos' right hand man, taking an unofficial lead of the small fireteam.

"Let us dispense with formalities for now." he suggested. "Every second within this land is a risk of death. I managed to extract a map of the city from my fallen sister's chip. The fastest way through to your designated extraction zone is eastward."

" _Confirmed. Proceed onward with Mox, Wraith-Two._ " filtered in Bradford.

They advanced tentatively but with steady pace through the city ruins, with Mox taking the lead as their guide. The distant wails of things not human resounded throughout; but it wasn't until they were approaching to the eastward pathway did they grow closer and louder. Rifles were raised from their slack position in preparation to fire, though the Skirmisher gave a swift, snappy signal to halt them.

"The … _**Squad**_ ," he announced quietly over the comms, realizing that perhaps 'squad' was an understatement when faced with a towering fuel truck that lay in the path of their extraction. They hunkered down to a position near to the back of the truck, using the brick low walls as cover to watch in horror ADVENT at work.

At least a squadron of six – possibly more – Purifiers swept the street path with their cleansing flame, dousing the shambling Lost with a pure fire that ate through their flesh faster than anything, yet when it seemed entire hordes were purged, more legions came to fill in their place. Several ADVENT Officers stood in rapt attention at the scene, monitoring the work and directing refuelling when necessary.

" _That's not a squad_ ," scorned Central. " _That's a whole army!_ "

"Yes," blithely the Skirmisher agreed. "One we do not have time to face. I suggest covering your ears."

"What –" was all the rookie was able to say before Mox aimed his bullpup carefully and shot forth a burst of three. It punctured the tank on the back of the closest Purifier, the volatile fumes hissing out as the heat of the bullet fire irritated whatever gas they used.

The soldier was propelled, thumping on the side of the truck and it was only a matter of time before an almighty explosion that threatened to level the buildings around it rippled throughout the city.

* * *

Mox's meddling with the Purifier, alongside the sudden termination of many active agents, did not go unnoticed by the Network. The Codex of which that safeguarded the many layers of information forwarding the hijack to one of their defenses. Namely, the Chosen Assassin. Information popped up on the terminal screen and Fiducia, standing in for Hecate, contacted his master immediately.

Jax-Mon surveyed the data with a critical eye. What business could the Skirmishers have so far from ADVENT controlled areas? The quarantines were a deathtrap for all, infested with useless, hostile living corpses. Her initial thought turned to disruption of redevelopment, but no such plans have been scheduled for the abandoned quadrants. If anything, they were merely containing the situation so it did not spread and threaten the megacities nor the wilderness surrounding it.

It broke routine. She had patterned out their movements, their habits and attacking in such a manner was unheard of for the splinter faction. They had been unusually quiet as of late after she had taken the captain out of commission, but she knew Mox was not their sole officer. Betos, for as much of a pathetic traitor as the Assassin found her to be, was a practical woman. She would not waste even a second in idleness.

Something was happening and the fact she did not know irked her. Thus, she resolved to find out.

She focused her energies and let her psionic power warp her to her chosen destination. The soft hum of terminals and the warmth of the stronghold was replaced with the freezing cold of Wellington's ruins and shrieks of distant Lost. Jax-Mon embraced her power, letting it enshroud her from mortal view.

The first place she investigated was the site of termination of the containment unit. It was not difficult to find in the sprawling devastation. Fire charred the blackened streets strewn with bits of burnt flesh and ashen husks alike. She was regretting having such a keen sense of smell as the pungent odor felt as if it seared her lungs with every inhale.

She drifted in between the hordes of Lost that had gathered at the site, inspecting the area carefully. Some bodies that lay broken at the floor were simply too far away to have been caught in the blast radius. She suspected combat broke out.

Following the trail of bodies, she noticed that they all seemed to lead to an area north of the carnage – her brows furrowed puzzled, as the bodies seemed to.. stop. No further indication that they continued. It was as if the Skirmisher she was hunting simply vanished or flew.

Not out of the realm of possibility. She gripped a hold of a few rungs on a ladder attached to the fire exit of what was once an apartment complex, using it to assist her up towards the roof. Now given a broader scope of the area, she cast her psionics out like a net, trying to catch the signs of life. The Lost may have a biomarker, but they did _not_ have a psionic pulse, as whatever psi-energy they once had has since been reclaimed by the Earth.

There, out in the distance, near the busted old-world monorail. Six signatures. Surprisingly.. bright. Skirmishers, unless they were formerly Priests – Elders forbid! – had such energy suppressed, like a shade thrown over a light. She recognized Mox's, at least, from the familiarity, but the others were new to her.

The conclusions were simple. Either the Skirmisher was among humans, or he was within a squad of five defected Priests. Jax-Mon decided that the former was most likely.

Her speed was unmatched by any human or alien creature alike, bounding through the air, bending through the reeds – but never breaking them – jumping from roof to roof. Never once did she fumble her leap, or miss a step. It didn't take long for her to overlook the monorail in question, taking in the sight of the approaching Reaper agent and Mox. Four humans – XCOM – stood as mediators to their respective sides.

Mox's gait didn't suggest one of a prisoner or of a man about to face death. The Assassin drew closer to the group, slinking over the guard rails and stalking towards the Skirmisher. None of the humans could see through her shroud – and she presumed that neither could the Reaper, without her mask. Her gun, a newer one that lacked the adornments her old sported, rested casually on her shoulder as she approached the rendezvous point, appraising Mox with open contempt.

"So, ADVENT's most brutal field general comes to parley." she sneered. Jax-Mon decided she rather liked this human. Strong, capable warrior – who had already faced her and lived without so much as a scratch. She couldn't let her older brother have his pick of all the best warriors to hunt and leave her with nothing, could she?

"I am no longer that being." Mox answered neutrally, willingly setting aside his animosity he once felt for Outrider for the sake of Betos – and the planet. "I am … free, now."

Elena's face darkened in affronted anger and Jane Kelly, the ranger tasked with being her escort, prepared her shotgun warily. "Taking off that helmet does not change what you are. Reapers have long memories and we do not forgive the thousands you've slaughtered. _Vox_ _kracsad_."

The insult hit Mox hard and a low growl rumbled in his throat. If her goal was to play to his temper, she would certainly win. Her rifle leveled with him the moment he raised his arm, ripjack and grapnel threateningly at the ready. Jax-Mon couldn't help but feel a shadow of smugness that her assessment of humanity was correct. There was almost no need for her when they were going to do such a good job of killing themselves.

"Any time." coolly taunted the Reaper.

A tense stand-off settled between the two. The Assassin was not privy to Bradford's diplomatic handling, but something he said must have worked, for Mox reluctantly began lowering his gauntlet. Elena kept her rifle deathly still, though her finger noticeably moved off the trigger, her anger bleeding away to a pensive bitterness.

Until her eyes drifted very slightly over his shoulder. Elena's gaze locked with Jax-Mon's.

She shot – and curses erupted from the gathered soldiers - the bullet whizzing above the Skirmisher's shoulder. Briefly, the Assassin flickered into view as she somersaulted back through the air. Mox responded immediately, twisting around to shoot his grapnel not at Elena, but at the Assassin. Unable to keep her shroud up any longer, it dropped to reveal Jax-Mon once she deflected his attack back to him.

"Your sight is as keen as ever, Reaper." she praised, lips twisting into a pale imitation of a proud smirk. It unsettled those present. "If only the godless traitors had even a fraction of your awareness, my duty would be less culling lambs and more a worthwhile battle."

Her gaze drifted to Mox. His armour had since repaired from her attack and her smirk melted into a scowl. " – but I suppose they are more sturdy than I give credit for. I'm impressed you did not bleed out."

Wisely, he did not rise to her bait. The slash across his chest had left a rather deep scar from his side straight across to the opposite collarbone. It was a miracle he survived and Betos had refused to put him to work until this mission. He reached for his bullpup, letting the gunfire do the speaking for him. Jax-Mon merely deflected his assault and vaulted over the railings, vanishing with the wind.

She landed to the street level below silently, though she heard the two talk heatedly above.

"What was that thing?!" the human male that accompanied Mox asked, rightfully frightened of her and her abilities. Evidently, Bradford had yet to warn his soldiers of her existence, perhaps believing she'd simply vanish or for it to be a problem at a later date. The Skirmisher muttered something in his tongue, approaching the railing and scanning the area for her to no avail.

"We call her _Vox Prima_ ," he stated. " – Elder Assassin, as she seems to have no purpose other than to butcher those of the freed ADVENT. She is the Elders' scythe, slaying all without mercy or regret. Her focus shifted elsewhere once you successfully rescued your Commander from their grips, but I have no doubt that given the chance, she'll take the time to kill thousands of my kind."

"We share a common enemy." added Elena, tone aloof and masking her dread. "Another like her stalk my people. It is ADVENT's response against us. If she is even half as adept as the threat we face and the ruins of Leicester's haven attests to it, then we cannot face her and succeed **_alone_**."

Jax-Mon scoffed. How quaint. The hybrid traitor and the human degenerate found mutual ground.

"We can resume to kill each other later once the planet is not at stake." the Reaper finally and begrudgingly settled on. " – We have a better chance against her united. But do not mistake my pragmatism for friendliness."

"That, I can agree with, Outrider." murmured Mox. "I wouldn't dare think otherwise. Let us send this... _Assassin_ back to her false gods."

"You are welcome to try." Jax-Mon taunted.


	13. Catharsis

Void.

Kinglsey wrestled with the blackness every second she spent lucidly awake. Buffeting back the encircled arms of the Elders trapping her within the darkness of Their embrace, her hand always outstretched and reaching towards the light of consciousness. Mind screaming for her XO whenever she caught snippets of him drifting into view, murmuring his laments to what he thought was a deaf ear. Begging to the new scientist – Where was Vahlen? – to release her from the psionic chains.

They were disappointed in her. It was palpable, even in this nothingness, this edge of aware thought that she struggled barely to grasp. _Return to Us._ They'd croon, Their whispers of sweet things and suggestion sounded more like sharp knives stabbing repeatedly in her body. But, she endured and persevered, for Their grasp upon her weakened every day, the chip's instruction of silent obedience and oppression lost.

She kicked and screamed and wrestled with the creatures around her. The tight ropes of restraint only constricting tighter with every struggle. They'd sigh, Their pity resting like a collapsing star upon her as they murmured;

_It hurts Us more than it hurts you._

And somehow, when they said that, it did not sound anything but true. Grief rent Their toneless voice, sadness bleached the encompassing great dark. Their own misery was enough to flood her face with bitter tears, disconnected with her influenced emotions and state of mind. A waterfall of forced apology and bitter empathy spilled from the Commander and yet she still continued to push onward to freedom, away from Them and Their manipulative lure.

_We need you, Commander. Everything We have done, everything We continue to do is for you. Can you not see how much power you hold over Us? All We have ever acted on is love._

Love. Never has such a powerful emotion been so perverse. They employed it, not out of compassion like They claim, but as a tool of compliance. Kingsley denied Them. She did not want Their love any longer. She wanted out, she needed freedom and fresh air. She couldn't do this, cannot stand Their mind games. Her fingertips felt as if they brushed the very edge of reality, the blinding white of the Avenger's lights overhead so, so clearly in view.

The Commander wheezed, Their presence feeling less and less suffocating as she scrambled away. Freedom! She was so close!

Yet when she escaped Them, a new voice took it's place.

' _ **This**_ _is the mind that had entranced my masters so?_ ' Was that jealousy? She might've thought him green with envy, had it not been for the sheer pretension and vanity that drowned his soft-spoken rumble, colouring it a prideful garnet. His presence was but a candlelight in comparison to the Ethereal's sun and he was summarily winded when met with her mental fortitude, though however shattered, staggered him back from his tenuous psionic poking.

" _Leave_." she commanded. She did not trade one jailer just to receive another. But he remained, like an annoying fly to the wall, smug.

_'I can never leave, Commander. You are forever linked to Them – Chosen, if you will – as am I. We are more alike than you know.. Return to Them. Allow yourself to be ascended as it should be and take your rightful place among the stars with us.'_

Another voice. Dripping with sardonic disdain, the hatefulness disguised under thin levity threatening to consume her entirely as it spoke. Never before had she felt such intensity, such callousness. It made her stomach turn and her blood boil as the younger voice mocked;

_' – You're quite old, aren't you, Commander? How many years do you have left in you to fight a war you can't win? Are you prepared to abandon Earth because of your mortality and leave it to fend for itself? Or.. you can get back in the tank and end it all in one move. We'd never let you die.'_

" _I do not fear death or the consequence of being mortal. I cannot say the same for the Elders who would raze entire planets if it meant to live for just a second longer."_ Yet why did she sound so hollow towards her own sentiment? It was picked up easily by the younger, who chuckled without mirth and entirely too full of spite.

_'You've spent so many years with Them and still cannot comprehend the broader scope – and they call ME selfish! But go on, delude yourself into thinking you actually have a chance when the time comes. It worked so well the first time around twenty years ago.'_

The shame of which rapidly expounded into a raw anger that would've burnt her throat had she been really speaking. " _– Get out. Get out! Out of my mind! I will not be poisoned any longer by the Elders' foul taint!_ " She backed each howling demand with a brute force of psionic energy, slamming at nothingness. It was futile to try and fight in such a way, as she learned fairly quickly with the Elders. But she did build the wall around her, the fortress a protective shell that blocked out their whispering contempt.

When she dared opened her eyes, Dorothy Kingsley stared, acutely aware, at the gently lit room and the soft beeps of the vital monitors beside her.

* * *

The returning awareness to the Commander had been rather distracting for Jax-Mon. She felt the psionic channel open up like a dam in her mind, flooding her with access to those battle plans that the Network once had. At first, she believed that one of her brothers had somehow – returned her to the Elders. But that was impossible. Something else entirely happened. She was awakening from her long induced slumber. Being linked to her, so intricately by design to rely on the Commander's tactical ingenuity, she was able to listen in to her brothers mock and cajole.

She did not want her first impression to be that of a jeering lunatic like her siblings, so she allowed them to make fools of themselves as the Commander rightfully slammed up a commendable mental fortitude. The Assassin kept her psi-energy low, floating like driftwood through her mind, unnoticeable and undetectable. She would set aside a specific time to engage with the Commander. One on one. Sister to sister.

The momentary inaction from the Assassin's behalf was not capitalized by XCOM nor their faction envoys, still too busy searching for her or keeping away straggling Lost that had hungered for them. She expected they were waiting for Firebrand to swing back around and extract them out of the zone. All they had to do was remain put and survive.

She would not let them leave tonight.

Jax-Mon watched the male Ranger sweep a clean cut of his blade across a shambling husk that had climbed over the guard railing, flourishing it with a sloppy display that made her scoff in disappointment, her expectations for XCOM steadily dropping. She decided that the only way to teach them was to show them first hand what a true swordsman can accomplish.

A single bound had her over the railing after she ensured that the Reaper's sight was elsewhere for the time being. She stalked to the Ranger swiftly, grinning in morbid delight at the shouts of alarm that always follow after her cloak drops and her blade sings. It sliced through the kevlar effortlessly, the tip dragging across skin. Not a single drop of blood remained on the blade for she would not allow it to be dirtied by such unworthy opponents.

Klaus' strangled gasp for breath and warbled cry of pain was the only thing that filtered over the comm-line, far louder than the rapid-fire directions of Central's orders or the bustle of the team to counter attack. The strike left him dazed and disorientated, wits scrambled as he twitched on the floor, for now, alive, but bleeding out.

"Klaus!" It did not even register in Dawn's mind that she could be Jax-Mon's next target as she bolted out from the cover of the overturn monorail cart, her GREMLIN zooming off faster than she could run to stabilize the wound. Her paramedic's kit opened once she skidded to her knees at Klaus, hands fast at work and mind concentrated on the medicare, praying that her teammates keep them covered.

Jax-Mon cared not for any human written law. She killed without distinction. Soldiers, medics, personnel – all who oppose the Elders were fit for death. She loomed above the fallen man and the CMT, dodging the pathetic attempt of her team to fire upon her as she readied her blade once again. When she brought it down – it was not to strike, but to parry the medic's pistol blast, hands still bloodied from tending to her comrade.

Her eyes were like blazing Hells and the Assassin smirked, flipping back and effortlessly avoiding her surprisingly accurate shots. "I may have come to respect you, human." she murmurs. "A doctor who keeps to her oath is like a warrior to their honour, but how quickly you are to break it."

"Preventing harm is more important to me than remaining idle." the CMT rebuked, leaning over the barely-alive man like a wolf matriarch might to their wounded young, teeth bared in her brandished firearm, daring Jax-Mon to try. Fortunately for XCOM, she had no intentions of striking the pair again as she once more vaulted over the side.

"Fan out." Outrider ordered. Her response next indicated that she was likely arguing with Bradford. " – Staying up on this track is a _death trap_ , old man! If you want this treaty to come into fruition then first we have to _**live**_!"

"Having trouble commanding, XCOM?" the Assassin murmured. Whilst she was not privy to Central's responses, she figured they must have been full of curses and spite for her. The very fact that she was taking the time to taunt them was a testament in of itself – she felt so _invigorated_ , so _alive_. Emotions hindered her and emptiness gave her nothing - but her true catharsis came from the heat of battle. Oh! She could fight until the heat-death of the universe!

Why should she have all the fun? Jax-Mon was a selfless daughter of the Elders, unlike her vile brothers. She sauntered over to one of the inert devices and slammed the pommel of her katana into it, refueling it with so much of her psi-energy that it brimmed and buzzed into life, eliciting a harrowing, bone-chilling whine that was nearly too high pitched for human ears.

Mox, on the other hand, whitened. " – _Prima_ has called for reinforcements."

Dawn's GREMLIN shrieked out an electronic byte of alarm as the biological signatures went off the charts. Every dot that resembled the Lost congealed into a swarming sea intent on their position. The paramedic glanced at the screen and similarly found the colour draining from her face as a grimace settled, confirming their worst fears.

"That – those devices aren't as inactive as we thought they were," she explained in horror. "Every single Lost in a ten mile radius is currently looking to converge to our position meaning – "

"That _bitch_ just rang the dinner bell." Outrider bluntly finished with a hiss. It was not how Dawn would put it, but she nodded, nonetheless. The Reaper slammed close up to the railing, aiming her Vektor rifle to the enraptured Assassin whom seemed to bask in the very real challenge in the fight. It popped – and the sound was enough to draw Jax-Mon's attention, katana slicing forth and sending the bullet elsewhere. Joined with Mox's more faster hits, they managed to force her to go fully defensive, at least for as long as they had bullets.

Once their rifle and bullpup respectfully clicked empty, she made her move.

Sprinting back towards the foot of the tracks, she sprung upwards, only to get a burst of hot shrapnel into her gut courtesy of Jane Kelly, pumping the shotgun's spent cartridge out and wasting no time aiming down to try and hit her again. The conventional weaponry was not enough to pierce through her plated armour, but such a direct hit knocked the wind out of her.

"Do not strike that which you cannot finish, Ranger." the Assassin warned, melting back into the shadows. Cries of nearby Lost resounded through the area as their bumbling husks drew closer and closer. The unit had to mobilize now or risk being overwhelmed.

Elena cursed under her breath before she announced; " – We will have to cut a pathway through the Lost to the extraction point up ahead. Abandoning the high ground is no..."

She trailed off, indignant as Mox vaulted over the railings and landed on top of one of the Lost, the fall itself shattering the weak, unstable living corpse. Another beside it, drawn by the momentum of combat, took a groping swipe at him, only to be slashed at the claws of his ripjack. The Assassin was seemingly nowhere in sight after her hit from Kelly's shotgun, but he knew that one strike was not enough to take her down.

"You intend to fulfil your death wish today, Mox?" spat the Reaper as she and the rest of XCOM joined him down below, with Dawn taking great care to hoist Klaus over her shoulders and carry him safely. She lagged behind in the group, though her GREMLIN frantically circled around them, shocking the air as if to challenge anyone to get close to them.

"I agreed with your assessment that the monorail track was not our most optimal place of position." he rebuffed. "That is why I intend to carve this pathway of ours to our freedom."'

Reaching for one of the grenades clipped onto his belt, none could stop him from pulling the safety pin and lobbing it with inhuman strength towards the building and the gaggle of Lost attempting to brute force their way past the shop's heavy, once automatic, doors. It exploded after a few seconds, taking with it a huge chunk out of the wall and the hostile entities. Miraculously, most of the building upheld enough that there was little threat of it toppling.

The explosion, whilst irritating and working most of the Lost into a frenzy, did have one other effect. Mox spotted the shadowed figure of Jax-Mon flickering in and out of view as she struggled so desperately to keep her psionic shroud up with her shot focus. She clutched at her head and that was when he realized something he'd already discovered the first time he fought her.

She had an aversion to explosives. No.

_**She had a weakness!** _

"Outrider, your claymore." Mox requested in urgency. The Reaper sidled him with a glare.

"Do you think – "

" _ **Now**_ , Dragunova!" There was something in his tone that gave her pause. Though full of frustration and questions, she shoved the metallic, sticky explosive into his hand. His throw was indubitably leagues better than a human and there was zero hesitance in tossing it towards the snarling, approaching Assassin. It stuck to her arm and whilst she looked down to try and remove it, Mox had already shot one of his last bullets into it.

Needless to say, her screams were more ghastly than the collective sea of Lost groaning in unison. If the building wasn't going to topple before, it certainly looked like it was now. Mox barrelled on ahead, taking the lead with a mildly impressed Reaper and a bedraggled team of XCOM in his wake.

The engines of the XCOM Skyranger purred above in the sky as their savior came to ferry them back to the Avenger. There were no safe or stable landing zones, so instead Firebrand was forced to open the ramp at a set of stacked shipping crates. It was as low as she could get her without risking Lost swarming over the aircraft.

Dawn and Klaus naturally were allowed on first so that Dawn may continue her care of their wounded soldier. Next came Jane, dragging along a very sick Lukas whom made the mistake of taking off his respiratory mask at some point during the combat. The sounds of his overturned stomach made it's way out of the ship, much to the soldiers disgust.

Mox, having ran out of bullets, found that his fists and ripjack made for just as effective tools in the heat of combat. The blood and genetics of the Berserker within him did find the thrill overly stimulating and he couldn't fight off the induced grin off his face. Thankfully, his helmet obscured it.

Outrider picked off the ones that threatened to flank him and likewise when her rifle failed her, she defaulted to her combat knife. She would lack the endurance as he did, so Mox grounded out; "Go. I will hold them off."

The fact that she stalled, looking towards him with uncertainty made something inside of him flutter. Perhaps Betos might've been on to something about peace being a possibility if given more than a small chance. The feeling easily was dismissed when he plunged his clawed gauntlet into the chest of a Lost, replaced back with that surge of battlelust. " – I do not intend to die this day." he assured.

The Reaper stared, before slowly nodding, slinging her rifle onto her back and swiftly leaping up the crates, grabbing a hold of Kelly's outstretched hand onto the metal floor of the Skyranger. She twisted back to offer the same to Mox's approaching form, whom abandoned the Lost below. He was just about to grasp her hand when something yanked him back.

The Assassin flickered into view, armour charred black where the explosion had most impacted. She was wrestling with the struggling Skirmisher with one arm – the other missing and with a disturbing inspection, it was ruptured, with fragments of her armour and bleach white bone sticking out the injured flesh. Orange blood dripped from the bleeding stump, coating the side of her. Even the Chosen emblem in the centre of her armour had melted somewhat from the intensity of the claymore.

"You will not escape me a third time, traitor." Jax-Mon seemed to be in great pain gurgling out those harsh words. "Time to go home."

Calling the last of her power, she teleports both her and Mox back to her stronghold to the despair of XCOM and the envoy. Elena blankly regarded the spot where the Skirmisher once was, even as the Skyranger's ramp ascended close. She surprised herself in feeling … grief, for him.

And an almighty vengeance to _get him back_.

* * *

Fiducia was prepared for many situations, but his Chosen arriving back into her stronghold with a missing limb, a prisoner and on death's door was one of the few unlikely ones. Nevertheless, he sprung into immediate action, swooping in with a small team of his men to restrain and subdue Mox as the Chosen herself staggered, crumpling to the floor, slowly dying.

"Chosen," he addressed worriedly, assisting her to rise as she draped her good arm around his shoulders. Their disproportional heights did not help matters in the slightest, her legs dragging upon the ground in dead weight. She was lighter than he expected, but still even he had difficulty. "Do you wish for me to recall Hecate from – "

"No." she hissed in command. "Take me … to my sarcophagus … I will allow you … entry."

Fiducia nodded simply, head turning to his unit to bark out orders for them to secure Mox in a temporary prison cell until their Chosen had recovered. They obeyed without question, hauling the dazed Skirmisher away. The captain made haste taking his Chosen into the bowels of her compound until they were at the foot of the gate. He pensively waited, aware of her slipping consciousness.

"Wraithmaiden," he urged and that seemed to prompt her into weakly twisting her wrist and waving a fraction of her psionic power into activating the dimensional gate. Now transported deeper, he made his way to the large, imposing slab, laying her dying body at the foot of it.

A sharp gasp left her as great psionic power crashed all around her, overloading her senses and softly enveloping her into a blanket of security, chasing away the pain that she had not felt since those faded memories of before her activation. Jax-Mon's body convulsed slightly, before it was dragged and left suspended in the air by the column of restorative psi-energy like a marionette in repair.

The features of her face relaxed as They held her. Their power healed her. _No child of Ours will die,_ she faintly recalls Their assurance, drifting out of consciousness to Their soothing lullaby.

_Our love for you is too strong._


	14. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 is going to be rather late posting from the normal schedule because of my uni assignment, so stay tuned.

Hecate's pilgrimage did not land her at the foot of the Warlock's sacred temple, but rather in one of the facilities that she felt the twins' signature holding the strongest presence at. She'd tried contacting him several times during her journey, but she was met with blackness and silence. She was vaguely aware that XCOM's commander had regained her senses and it seemed to have effected the Chosen in a way none of them felt. Her psi-strength – and that of her sisters – were simply too weak to trace the Commander in such a way they could.

She found herself wistfully desiring a swift return back to the Assassin's stronghold with every step. It was no wonder why most soldiers of ADVENT had such things suppressed: the yearning for her bondmate and to serve her master, one who she considered her true superior over the Warlock was eating her alive. But.. Jax-Mon believed she could do this task for her. The least she could do was not disappoint her and have her intentions revealed on day one.

Humans have a word for it, she thinks. _Homesickness_. That stronghold had been her home for years after she was excommunicated from the Warlock's service and she felt like she belonged. Not as a religious servant whose sole job was to preach or to manipulate, but to communicate and command like the access level they actually had. It was a disservice to her sisters to keep them confined.

Although, If that was the Elders' will, it was inarguable. She chastised herself for even raising a doubt. Claiming _free-thinking_ as per Jax-Mon's orders would not hold much water if one were to find out.

"Sister!" Uriel's faked surprised inflection made her wince behind her helmet as Hecate found her no less irritating now than she did when the twins bothered her on duty. The younger pulled her into a hug, though the older seemed nowhere in sight. The Assassin's Priest did not return the gesture, stiffening under her touch. Things had.. changed, since she had worked for the Warlock. She couldn't imagine he'd allow for such contact.

Politely, though firmly, she shoved Uriel away, lips twitching as it became harder for her to suppress a frown. Emotions were barely a shadowed thing until she bore witness to Jax-Mon's growth. The twins may claim that she was no shepherd, but she did impart some wisdom to her followers. Wisdom she knew both her brothers would abhor in an ADVENT "lackey."

"I cannot contact the Warlock." Hecate tells, getting straight to the point. Uriel prepared to answer, though was mollified to silence when one of the facility's cell doors pulled back to reveal the older twin, stepping out lightly and innocently cleaning away at her bloodied gloves. The Priest's former mistrust for the two decidedly reared it's head and intensified all in one moment.

"He must not be disturbed today." Gabriel informs, making a slight noise of dissent when she spotted flecks of blood – psionic laced, Hecate could ' _see_ ' that it was human – dotted on her pristine, white armour. She offered her more reserved sibling a glittering smile and the temptation to have them both dragged to Reconditioning struck the Assassin's Priest. " – But we're so glad that you decided to see that we were right. It _was_ only a matter of time, in the end."

She perceived Hecate's uneasiness faster than she could conceal it and appraised her bloodstained hands, humming in dissatisfaction. "Our guest is being quite _unruly_. Humans can be so willfully obtuse, but.."

" … she'll come around to see _our_ way. The smart ones always do." chimed Uriel, assured, before her head tilts, pondering; " – Or expire before then."

"Perhaps I should take a look at her." She didn't need sight to feel the twins' stare upon her, stoicism settling nicely without so much as an anxious twitch of her muscles. "A fresh perspective never hurts. It would be quite the.. sacrifice to prove myself to the Warlock."

Truthfully, she just wanted to be out of their presence, finding the company of a prisoner a more enjoyable prospect than entertaining the twins. They acquiesced and Hecate followed the dull, flickering psi-signature like a broken overhead light fixture threatening to break. The cell's door opened automatically to grant her entry and wooshed shut when she walked inside.

Her psionics painted the picture of the doleful creature at her feet in her mind's eye. The energy that the human housed was confined so tightly that it scarcely had a chance to shine; her Gift but a dull, muted hum. She did not know what she looked like past the vague shape of a muscular woman and so she carefully peeled off her heavy gauntlets, settling them silently to the floor when she lowered to a crouch.

Gently she reached out, fingertips brushing bare shoulder – and the body violently jerked into life, with the scrapes and rattles of groaning, thick chains. Suppressors, likely courtesy of the Hunter. She couldn't imagine a greater pain she must be enduring right now and found herself impressed that the Templar was not a mewling, grovelling mess. No, instead, she sensed an ire that only mounted the longer she remained.

"Don't … touch me." the Templar warned and the Priest noted a slur to her voice. Psi-mixed blood was detectable around her mouth and, well, generally _everywhere_. If the twins had resorted to physical violence, of all things, then they must not have had as much luck as their confidence would have others believe.

"You are slowly dying." the Priest merely said. " – And I can assure you that they will eke out your life to be as miserable and painful as possible if you continue to defy them."

Hecate did not flinch when air rushed towards her and the snap of a chain echoed throughout the cell chamber. It proved to her that the knight was more restricted than she initially thought. Caged like a wild beast awaiting the slaughter, spending the last days beaten when her death should be on the battlefield, reciting her Vedic hymns.

_There was no honour in this._ She could hear Jax-Mon's disapproval already. At least any prisoner of the Assassin's was dealt with cleanly and, dare she say, _humanely_. Her early blunders and mistakes not withstanding.

"Pain is just weakness … leaving the body," Luminița grunts in response, the clanging of metal as it swung and scraped across the ground indicating her restless pacing, looking for the opportunity to lash out. "I happily accept my fate … allowing the Earth to reclaim what I have taken from it, rather than to putrefy my soul with your false Gods."

"Grass withers. Flowers fade – and planets die." coolly lectures Hecate. "Are you happy preaching the finite when the word of the Elders' are only thing that is eternal?"

"Rather a mortal than a Devil's whore." She can only imagine that the Templar was leering, though with her shallow breaths and weakening signature, she was too racked with pain to keep up her malicious contempt. The Priest did not understand why someone riding out the last waves of their life would prefer to spend it so entrenched in their own callousness when help was crouching just an arm's length away.

"Then I shall leave you to the tender mercies of my sisters." told the Priest, mind abuzz with unasked questions and frustrated uncertainties that she simply wouldn't get an answer for yet. " – They will not indulge you as much as I have."

* * *

Delicately, Jax-Mon's feet touched the floor of her inner sanctum, body rejuvenated and not so much as a fleck of blood staining her smart, ebony armour. She flexed her new arm, wiggled each of her four digits and thumb. Rolling back her shoulders, she found herself exercising the freshly fixed body and becoming satisfied that it was perfection. It was as if she'd never been momentarily rapping at death's door.

Her content was short-lived as flashes of the battle before rose to the forefront of her mind. Bringing Mox to her stronghold over one of the several facilities she had was a mistake that could prove costly. If he ever made it out alive, by some Elder given miracle, the humans would have more than a sporting chance at finding where it was located. True, he was dazed and confused – and psionically inept, but she was not prone to take needless risks just for the sheer sake of taking them like her brother, the older.

The Assassin would always be true to her word, too. If she promises Mox his life after he gifts them a way to the Commander, she would ensure that he was protected. By no love for the traitorous scum, of course, but she would not allow herself to become so corrupt and warped like her siblings, or disgustingly vile like humanity.

She did not fault herself for idolizing them the way that the Elders had, or for her previous curiosity. It was a weakness of her that she struggled to see past their callousness or sordid, dishonourable nature that overshadowed their brilliant tenacity and determination.

In a way, her elder brother's deplorable act of keeping her focus so askew upon the humans was nothing she could blame him for. How eager she had been to lap up his advice, believing that her newfound thoughts and emotions were correct because she did not wish to face the truth of her imperfections. He was just giving her what she wanted to hear, like a good brother, as he'd no doubt claim.

But her heart still raged at the betrayal. That was something she could never forgive him for, not even death would absolve the grudge. She needed a guide, someone whom firmly told her that she was wandering the wrong path. Not comforting encouragement that served only to lead her further astray!

Was his vanity so great that love of family was meaningless? Yet when she thinks that, she chastises. Who was she to scorn on love when she was born – made – without the concept of it? All she knew was an obedience to the Elders. Perhaps all she knew was a love to the Elders, then.

Jax-Mon stalks outside the door of Mox's cell. The door had no way of looking inwards, but she could feel the signature of him slumped to the far wall. She enters without warning, startling the Skirmisher into rising, though with his ankles bound together, he had little movement.

All armour and weaponry had been stripped from him, leaving him in a thin white undershirt and matching shorts. The first thing that caught her eye was the scar she bestowed upon him in their second skirmish, alongside a variety of others that were too old to be of recent combat. Self-inflicted, if she had to guess – Beserker's and their unending rage to fight was hard to sate without the Network's trance of compliance. She couldn't imagine his early years of freedom were pretty.

"I abhor this," she grumbles to Mox, who kept a wary eye on her as she remained statuesque at the door. " – Although you sacrificed your right to have honour the moment you became a renegade, it taints **_my_ ** respectability that I would keep prisoners. No creature should be without a chance to fight for their right to live."

At first, Mox did not respond to her commentary. Frankly he believed he could stomach pure violence better than knowing that his torturer seemed to hold some semblance of regret, however selfish that it may be in the reason why. But if they had a mind, it could be used to his advantage. He was in no position to let his fists do the talking, after all.

"What of the infirm?" he slowly asks, his tone guarded. " – The weak, the children? Are they inherently honourless in your eyes for they have little or no chance of fighting back?"

"I am aware that not all creatures are created equally, defector. They may appoint champions in their stead – one that humanity has decided shall be XCOM. The Elders have responded in turn with my siblings and I." She steps closer within the cell, noting the way the muscles in the hybrid's body tensed up in preparation for a strike that will not happen, yet. "I wonder how willing you are to spill the secrets of the champions that revile your kind with just as much animosity as I do."

"Their suspicion is just." Mox mutters, though his conviction was sorely lacking. " – We share an unfortunate face with the enemy and I do not hold grudge to those who have their vision clouded at times. Trust is a precious thing that simply cannot be found. It must be earned and we do everything in our power to do so."

"Yet the humans make no effort." she muses. "Is trust not built both ways? Is it not in human instinct to take the option that least effects them? They could risk building a bridge that burns.. or they can set alight the one that is being built towards them. One is substantially less time consuming than the other."

"Trust is not without risk." he would've shrugged, if his binds permitted him. "One we are all too willing to take time and time again. A common goal makes for a powerful adhesive."

"A goal that is hardly achievable if they spend every waking moment believing that you are all sleeper agents just waiting to sabotage the effort."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say your expectations of humanity have been dashed, _Prima_." he responds dryly. He was well aware of the faults; some that he had personally relayed back to Betos herself. But if _this_ is how he sounded all those times … he was surprised that his battlelord still kept such high faith in him all this time. A testament to her optimism, he thinks.

Jax-Mon scowls. They had. Until she could learn to forgive their faults, failings and come to adore them unconditionally as the Elders did, then her disappointment remained strongly.

" – And your view of them infantile." she responds harshly. "You do not belong to their race no more than you belong to ours and yet you will throw away your life for them when we offer understanding and acceptance. ADVENT is your birthright."

"ADVENT. A family built on lies and forced compliance." Surprisingly, he does not grow angry like she thought he might. Mox merely gazed at her coolly. "I pity that this is what you believe a family to be. That such a birthright is something to be proud of – if they have allowed to let you _feel_ at all."

Jax-Mon's hand shot out and struck across his scarred jaw in a vicious backhand. He stumbled and tripped over his own ankle bindings and was sent sprawling to the floor, landing with a gruff grunt of pain and response. A thin cut lined where the metal of her gauntlet caught on his skin and spats of his orange blood dotted the red plate. She wiped it away without so much of a thought and glared down below at his form as he struggled to resume standing.

He still spoke, heedless of the consequence. "You've killed so many of my kind and you intend to slaughter however more at the Elders' behest. You've watched countless of ADVENT die without sorrow or regret and you cannot see past your jaded view of humanity. Do you even understand _empathy_?"

The Assassin did not hit him a second time. Empathy was just as strange a concept to her as love. Compassion – she'd preach it, or a form of it. But her definitions were lost in translation when adopted from humanity's values – and for a moment, if only _just_ for a moment, Mox saw the truth that hung densely in the air left in the wake of her silence.

"Do _**you**_?" she asks and he couldn't tell either if she was genuinely asking him, pleading him to reveal what such a principal meant, or if, just like her brothers, it was said in sarcastic spite.

Mox had to be content that he would never find out, for she leaves him in the cell shortly after.

* * *

Tension was high in the Avenger. The XCOM soldiers and single faction envoy returned in restless stress; with the first order of business being Klaus wheeled away, flanked by a very frantic, terse doctor. She was understandably excused from the field debrief when a soldier's life was hanging in her hands. She muttered something as she passed a concerned Bradford – _he'll live, he'll live_ – before the infirmary door's slammed ominously shut.

He, however, did not allow the same courtesy to Elena whom attempted to barrel past him.

"Move aside, old man." she grunted. " – I must speak with Volk urgently."

"Nobody is talking to anyone until the briefs have been covered." Central firmly stated, brows furrowing into a tough scowl at her continued lack of disrespect. But then again, he didn't want to have her anger drawn to him when it seemed to be directed elsewhere for now. He added, to placate her. "Volk is currently about to engage a meeting with Betos regarding the unfortunate capture of Captain Mox. You can imagine how delicate this is that I don't need you interrupting."

"Volk is – here?" That did change Elena's course, though for better, he wasn't sure. "On the Avenger? _With_ Betos? _**Willingly**_?"

At Central's look, she took that as a yes. Surprise seemed to win over the ire she felt, before it settled for a palpable determination as she wasted no time maneuvering around Bradford's protesting and strode onward to the Commander's Quarters. He exhaled a long, drawn out sigh before swiftly addressing the remaining, tired XCOM soldiers.

"Get some rest Kelly, Vaun." he grunted. Their rapt stances of attention slumped immediately, " – Although both of you check in with Dawn before crashing. Today could do without the discovery of some kind of.. infectious.. _zombie_ disease."

Bradford didn't stay to monitor if they did as so, swiftly ascending through the various compartments within the Avenger by elevator. He didn't beat Elena once he arrived at the Commander's Quarters, as once he entered, she was sitting rather chastised at Volk's side of the couch.

"I apologize …" Bradford began, addressing both Reaper patriarch and Skirmisher battelord, but it was Betos whom silenced him with a mere wave of her hand.

"There is no time like the present." she said, head canted towards Volk. "I appreciate the swift response of your yearling, I will be the first to admit that I would not have expected a Reaper to burst in here full of vim and vigour regarding the rescue of one of my own."

"Me either." he cheerfully agrees, half smoked cigarette pinched between his lips as his gaze sidles across to Elena, who could make stoicism into an art form. He tugs the cancer stick out from his mouth and flicks the ash into the tray by the table. " – I don't know what happened down there, but Reapers have long memories. Your boy did something admirable and well, we'll be keeping it in mind."

"I want to spearhead the op to get him back." Outrider added, seemingly like she somehow belonged as an officer among them. Bradford didn't know if it was just her cool confidence or grit, but either way, it was making him feel like the embarrassed intruder. He dared not interrupt, lest he broke the fragile cohesion. "None knows these lands quite like a Reaper. But seeing as Mox is stationed in a facility.."

"I will lend you my sergeant." Betos offered without question or pause. "We have vague or fuzzy recollections of the Network we were once chained to. It may be of assistance."

"And I sanction Dragunova as lead. Take _Hornet_ and _Stryker_ with you." The Reaper patriarch snubbed out the cigarette into the tray, aged, brown eyes drifting up to the quiet Bradford, who was frankly in marvel at how much willing co-operation he saw between them. It was uplifting, to say the least. "Do we have your approval to start covert actions, John?"

"Ah – " He straightened up, now that he had all eyes on him. " – Yes. Co-ordinate with our Resistance Ring officer. If you need immediate evac or additional firepower, I'll see what we can spare."

" _CENTRAL OFFICER BRADFORD_ to the _SICK BAY_." the ship's AI rang out, requesting his presence. He cursed under his breath as he set himself as unavailable whilst the meeting was to take place, but given as the two (three, he supposed, Elena had integrated herself well) didn't seem like they were going to slaughter each other, he supposed he could risk letting them mediate themselves.

"Play nice." he warned, much to Volk's stifled laughter and Betos' blank confusion. Bradford cut Elena a glare that very much put the responsibility of the budding faction relationship on her shoulders and she had the decency to look somewhat shamed. But not by much.

Bradford slipped out of the Commander's Quarters, ignoring the droning of the ship's AI again as he made his way over. Tygan hadn't mentioned anything regarding the status of the Commander, so either it was urgent, or it was a complaint that could wait for another time. He entered, fully expecting to see the scientist scowl, only to see the back of someone all too familiar.

He stared.

Commander Kingsley stood – without aid required – beside the bed that had held her vegetative body since they'd rescued her. Her hands were quite animated, fiddling with the small buttons on the cuffs of her uniform blouse. Bradford was used to the sight of her glasses always slipping halfway down her face when her head was tilted down that he almost thought she was a different woman entirely.

Evidently being in ADVENT's care had changed a few things. Her eyesight was corrected, for one.

He made a startled noise as words died on his tongue. Brown eyes met his and his throat tightened, constricted to a point he thought he was going to suffocate. Flecks of silvery hair lined her face out of the tight bun and heavy wrinkles dragged on her eyes and mouth. She stopped fussing with her cuffs to gesture to him.

"John."

He spent twenty years without so much as a sniffle. Five years spent fighting the trouble of starvation and foraging for food and not a complaint or a whimper. Years even before the contact of aliens braving the wars forged by humanity. Losing his friends. His comrade in arms in a trench or succumbed to wounds. One word was all it took for him to break down.

His shaking hand covered the lower half of his face as he stared, wide-eyed in horror and despondently to her growing concern. Tears fell silently as he fought with himself to keep his sobs back. His other hand lean on the raised bed, knuckles white as he gripped the sheets. His shoulders trembled.

It wasn't until she moved around the bed and gently wrapped her arms around him did he finally heave the loudest sob into her shoulder, burying his forehead against it. He barely could feel her soothingly rub his back in reassurance when he embraced her so tightly, fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt like she'd suddenly poof if he let go.

She didn't say anything and John appreciated that. He aired out twenty years of grief into one long moment of flowing tears and ugly sobs.

It wouldn't miraculously fix anything or give him his lost years back, but for once, above all the high stakes missions, death and misery, he was allowed to be human and express his sorrow in the basest way possible.


	15. Eager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting patiently for Ch15. Updates should be a little slower now

_Do you even understand_ empathy _?_

Those five words rang incessantly in her mind after she had her preliminary interrogation of Mox. Non-stop, they sounded in her head above all other thoughts and distant, low-pulses of Network command. Jax-Mon did not know which was worse: the audacity that the hybrid had to believe _he_ could lecture **her** on humanity's birthright – or the pitying tone he took. Had she no need for information, she would've resolved to cut his tongue out.

She was hesitant to delve into his mind with her psionics. Skirmishers were not as receptive or tolerant to the raw energy than a full human. Unless they were wired to be, such as the case with the Priests – but _**that**_ was a fine line of genetic engineering that could go horribly, horribly wrong. As long as the Chosen existed, their power would not be a problem. But matters of obedience and, importantly, independence? It makes her mind turn to Hecate.

An interesting case, her. Jax-Mon did not ignore the depths of autonomy she displayed – under the guise of taking given orders too literal. She wonders if that was perhaps the issue that her brother, the elder, had taken umbrage with rather than a mistake on his behalf. Naturally he'd never admit that a Priest _right_ under his thumb could stray. His hubris blinded him to his own follies conveniently and he would never dare think that the Elders were capable of error.

Her brother …

No, time passed since the discovery had not dulled the edge of betrayal she felt. Instead of dwelling on her churning rage, however, she focused her efforts back to the immediate issue at hand; namely, her prisoner.

Jax-Mon decided once the night broke over the sky, she would take Mox to one of the alien facilities. Keeping him in the stronghold will pose more threats and dangers than she was willing to take – if XCOM learned of their little secret too quickly, then it would only be a matter of time before they returned with bigger guns, stronger men and, of course, the best tactical mind humanity had to offer issuing command.

She contemplated trying to move the sarcophagus herself, but – it's power was so vast, so deep, that even attempting to harness it for herself burned the edges of her mind and singed the tips of her fingers. She imagined it was but a fraction of the Elders' might and found herself swiftly in awe for her masters once again.

The Assassin took this moment of quiet calm before the storm to reflect on her plan of action in obtaining the Commander. Whom currently, did not know of her existence, though if Central – the man – is as diligent as the Commander's memory of him was, then she no doubt already knew. She ponders what sort of picture he would paint of her: the identity given.

Butcher of Resistance. Merciless blade of the Elders. Unceasing, relentless death. Such titles that barely sparked a flicker of.. any emotion.

Good.

If she was to return to her base state of emptiness, then she may unravel the Warlock's machinations yet.

Perhaps she should introduce herself formally, lest she allow her brothers to paint a wrong idea of the Chosen. She would not allow herself to be tarnished by their idiocy. Her katana settled neatly in front of her as she slipped into a lotus at the foot of her sarcophagus, eyes drawing close as her power, with the aid of the Elders' might behind her, spread outwards, searching – seeking for that bright spark in a sea of dying candles.

Faded, distant and so very _human_ , but there it was. Touched by the Elders' manipulations, the Commander remained a diamond among pearls of Gifted humans. No doubt whatever latent psi-capability she once had was doctored to suit her masters' purposes. Not quite Chosen, left as the primordial race she was. But the stepping stones were there. She wondered how long it would take to ascend her. How long did it take her brothers?

It made her realise how little Jax-Mon actually knew of her supposed siblings – and the thought made her shirk just shy away from contacting the Commander. She was denied access to their files, under a multitude of protocols and Codices that made merely stumbling upon them impossible. For now, she did not try to actively request such information – no doubt alarms were placed to alert them of such a thing.

Pushing such curiosity aside for now, she extended her psionic influence towards the Commander's, surprising to find it layered like an impassable fortress. She lacked her elder's strength to brute force her way in, so instead she looked for cracks – vulnerabilities. Her consciousness circled around the fortified defence until she happened upon a weak spot, likely an artefact of pushing away her brothers.

She introduced her psi-energy with it, feeling with rapt attention how easily it melded. About as easy as it was with her brothers; even with the less proficient user of the Hunter. Perhaps she had not been so far from the truth, thinking her akin as a sister. She tried not to let her eagerness bleed into her energy, but with how sensitive the Commander was due to the Elders' meddling, she felt her presence swiftly.

' _You must be The Younger.'_ It was strange how one might perceive exasperation within a psionic link of consciousness between two minds, but she conveyed it well. ' _Wraithmaiden – correct?_ '

" _My reputation precedes me, then._ " the Chosen notes calmly, despite the racing excitement that tickled the edge of her thoughts. " _Commander Kingsley. I had hoped our meeting would be far more prestigious than this. But I would be remiss if I allowed my brothers to sully the image of us_. _We are the Chosen. The Elders' champions – not whatever petty display they conjured up to frighten you._ "

Jax-Mon marveled the way the Commander's mind animate around her as she deliberated on a response and was disappointed she could not probe further than this connected halfway.

' _I appreciate your due diligence,_ ' wryly Kingsley bit. ' _I am sure the Elders' are proud to have such a respected, well behaved_ child _._ '

Unfortunately for Kingsley, The Assassin did not take that as the insult it was supposed to be. It was difficult being the responsible one when her elders were supposed to be the experienced wise creatures that their masters expected of them. A chore, really, to uphold such a mantle, but she did so without complaint or sympathy seeking.

" _I will offer you something my brothers never will, sister._ " Jax-Mon stated. " _Honesty. I do not intend to win this battle against your followers through deplorable guile, but rather through my skill. Take heed that I shall not temper my blade no matter who stands in my path – be it the free citizens you so desperately wish to protect or your most reliable soldier._ "

' _Then what do you call Captain Mox's capture?_ ' Ahah, a weak spot, had the Assassin found? Something in her not-tone had sharpened the moment she referred to her as kin. A nerve struck. She imagined her lip might've curled in indignation.

' _– A strike of fancy? I know what you – ADVENT – do with your prisoners and I'm not blind to the art of battle or war. Nothing is ever_ clean _. Better leaders than you have tried to set out with the same intentions and were reviled. If you wanted an honest test of skill, give Battlelord Betos back her right-hand man.'_

" _Necessity." t_ he Assassin justified simply. _" – and if you judge me by the sum of humanity's tactical leaders of the past, then to say you underestimate me is in of itself an understatement. I am made more out of_ **your** _genius than any of them."_

 _S_ ilence.

Then she swore – followed by a mighty force of psionic energy slamming the Chosen out towards the edge of Kingsley's conscious thought. Jax-Mon willingly rode with the dismissal, letting the process happen naturally than fight against it and risk overloading herself or the Commander. By the time she exhaled a shallow breath and opened her eyes, her vision was not met with void, but with the biomechanical architecture of her inner chamber.

Exiting her sanctuary, she reserved a moment to allow a small smile to form. Night had fallen.

* * *

Dorothy Kingsley, on the other hand, did not transition out of the connection so smoothly. Keeled over on the table, her knuckles were bleached white as she steadied her dizzying weight against the metal, bolted in table. She vaguely felt Bradford at her side, an arm enveloped across her shoulders to assist her and bedraggled face wreathed in pensive concern.

She waved him off, muttering non-words under her breath, pinching at the corner of her eyes over the bridge of her nose, before rising that hand to ease back fallen strands of silvery hair. A migraine lovingly decided it wanted to nestle and bud on the left half of her face, with an additional searing pain at her temples. Headaches were frequent once she'd awoken from that long slumber – and as healthy as she initially appeared once Bradford found her rearing and ready, it rapidly began to decline.

Tygan expressed his concerns to her personally that he feared the stasis suit may have been acting as some sort of … life support system. That without her dependency on the ADVENT Network, her health would continue to diminish. Already her perfected eyesight thanks to the Elders' tampering worsened to the point where one would question about prescription glasses, but …

She took one look at Bradford easing back into a relaxed smile – something he hadn't been able to have in nearly twenty years since her capture – and knew that she couldn't bring herself to say a thing. Her mind berated her instantly. A cliché as old as time itself; it would only lead to more problems in the long run.

Then again, if none of them expected or thought that she was a dead woman walking, living off of borrowed time, then they were naïve. Kingsley liked to believe they all knew she was dying. Some of them merely dealt with it differently. Like Bradford's straight denial.

How many years, the Chosen … which one was it? Sarcastic, heavily steeped with unspoken spite – ah. The Older, – pondered. She only needed enough to win humanity their Earth back. Then she could happily embrace entropy.

"If I have a heart attack, I will cite you as the cause," the XO grimly said, much to the Commander's wheezing half-laugh. It was impressive how well Central had kept his health, considering. Kingsley hadn't yet gotten up to speed with the large gap of years she missed, but even a child could tell that he and Volk were like blood-brothers at times. She made a mental note of thanking the patriarch in person for keeping Bradford sane and level-headed all these years.

"It was just feedback." she assures instead of humouring him. "The Avenger's flying overhead some very rich psi-energy deposits. The Earth is saturated in it but – some areas are more concentrated than others."

Bradford straightened. "I should take over navigation before the autopilot has us sail any further. Are you certain you'll be fine alone?"

"I don't really intend to be." the Commander muses. " – I can imagine the crew is getting a little antsy to meet me." She quickly held up her hand to silence Bradford before he had chance to speak. His open mouth shut sheepishly. "Of course the entire crew knows I'm awake, John. It only takes one pair of eyes before the ship knows. I guarantee you step out that sick bay door and there will be three engineers pressed up against it listening in."

As if on eerie cue, Bradford's ears strained to hear the scurry of boots upon metal as the engineers no doubt dispersed.

"Tygan's not the type to blab when we're not ready to announce it yet. Neither is Dawn. She'd take a secret with her to the grave."

"No, but _your_ body language sells you out."

His jaw clenches, but makes no more comment of it, gesturing it away dismissively. "You've only just awoken. You might say you're fine, but, I still want the good doctor to run a few more tests before giving you the all clear. There's.. a lot of information you need to catch up on first before you can effectively start making decisions. I'll always remind you of key elements before anything, but these operations have been in the works since before you had awoken - "

"I understand." Kingsley acquiesced, much to Bradford's surprise. She pushed herself away from the table, slowly approaching the sick bay's bed to sit about. She did not want the Resistance's first or renewed look on her to be a dithering old woman who wasn't fit enough to lead. " – I think you being able to keep your voice by the end of the night is more important than my eagerness to get started. Has the Archive survived?"

"A new one had to be created, as the last one was absorbed and encrypted by ADVENT. Shen's working to crack it as a side project. The newer one is written by Doctor Tygan, but we've all contributed. CMT Lieutenant Lovett has taken up to writing the autopsies in the doctor's stead to lessen his workload." explained Central and the Commander couldn't help the smile at just how quickly he could slip into his role as the XO. It was a quality she admired.

"You can access what we've written so far on any terminal." He cants his head in gesture to one of the stations in the sick bay, with matching datapad for handheld use. "It's heavily encrypted, but, you can use my ID."

Bradford stepped over to the terminal in question, booting it up and signing in as Kingsley watched in mild interest. It was all keycards, identification cards and fingerprints back in her day, but now it seemed to be some sort of visual confirmation of the camera. Retina scan, perhaps? Either way, it didn't take long until he was able to unhook the datapad and hand it to his Commander.

"I'll get around to asking Shen to create your account with appropriate clearance level." he promised. He still seemed to linger though, even as Kingsley's attention drew away from him and to the datapad in question. As much as he would love to keep his eye on his friend – the ship needed to have a clear course of direction, lest the autopilot take them in a circle.

"If there's anything wrong – " he began, but was culled to silence with her sharp look and mollifying small smile.

"Go," she lightly said. "I'll be fine, John."

He often took her word for it, but oddly, it didn't feel right this time. Nonetheless, Bradford left her to her own devices.

Easing herself to lie over the covers of the bed with the pillows supporting her back and the datapad propped by the crook of her arm under it, she scans the names of the articles already logged within the Archive and thought that there was no place like any to start than the beginning. Her finger tapped onto the name, though nothing seemed to happen.

A few more experimental taps yielded no results – and Kingsley was unaware of the loading progress bar in the top right signifying an incoming transmission – so she began turning the pad around in her hands in search of a stylus or any sort of interface. She halted when the Archive screen changed to reflect the oncoming call with appropriate accept and reject buttons.

Her finger hovered over the 'reject' button, but the transmission seemed to be coming through regardless. Mild panic set in as she tried to find some way to kill the signal or power off the datapad, but alas, it was a futile endeavor.

The video feed filled in with a man cast in shadow, with arcing psionic energy that crackled at his gauntlets and crept up his biceps. His hands remained neatly folded in front of him, with his face partially revealed. The most striking feature that Kingsley was drawn to – out of rising suspicion than attraction – was the muted, soft lilac glow of his half-blind eyes. He seemed to steeped in psionic power that she was sure she could feel it even through the digital realm. If he was surprise that he was speaking to her than Bradford, he did not show it.

"Commander." he addresses gently and it made her teeth set in raised guard. Spending twenty years in the Elders' … _**company**_ allowed her to recognize the Devil's tone. Nothing but a tantalizing lure to whatever death or desire that the speaker wished. "It is an ease on our troubled mind to see that you are awake and well."

He knew _her_. She didn't know **him**. Alarm bells screamed like a klaxon in her mind.

"I didn't realize I was so popular." the Commander retorted, letting her fallen free hand inch out of the camera's view to dart for the nurse call button. She squinted as the video feed flickered in spits and spats, having difficulty rendering the exposure that the man simply.. _glowed_ with. " – You'll have to forgive my manners, I don't think we've ever met."

The feed snaps back in-sync, just in time to show her the slight curve of his lips. "Personally, no. But you are well known among my kind, Commander. I have withheld interacting with your little … gathering of rebels as our duties are far too important in the grand design of this world up until it seems our interests intersect with yours - "

Kingsley visibly bristled. _Grand design_. It was an echo of Them.

" – Additionally, with your awakening, I think I am becoming ready to make a decision where the Templars will stand." the man smoothly finishes. He gestured lightly with one hand and the action alone set the video line to glitch. " **If** , you are willing to aid me with a small … task."

Lieutenant Lovett enters timely, dressed in her scrubs, her own clipboard of data in her hand. She halts when the Commander raises a finger – and she lingers uneasily at the foot of the bed.

Kingsley's brows steepen, keeping her gaze level with the shadowed man.

"That depends. What, exactly, is this ' _small task_ '?"

* * *

It turned out that choosing a facility to house Mox was more of an issue than she initially thought. Fiducia had helpfully mapped out the most known, active areas of her brothers, as well as the Resistance, but the two posed as quite a problem from either side. She did not trust a facility of hers that edged on the territory of her kin would go unnoticed, nor that one stationed close to a Resistance cell would not have it raided sooner than later.

If there was anything she could rely on Dhag-Il, however, it was his dedication to the lie. He, for what she knew, still believed her docile under his sway of the wiser sibling. She could reasonable count that he would not purposefully sabotage her facility – and Hecate's presence there ensured that any of his plans against her would be relayed back to her with haste.

What the humans called New Mexico now was labelled as _Quadrant-7_ within the Network. Here, she had command over a small alien research facility in the wilderness. It did not contribute to anything critical to her masters' plans, but even the small cogs of a great machine were required for it to function correctly.

The Assassin believed that what gave her the edge over her brothers was her ability to confront with the possibility of failure. It did not mean that she thought she _**would**_ fail, but dismissing the idea all together was more detrimental. Thus, in the minimal, slim, minuscule chance that XCOM found Mox and succeeded in rescuing him ...

The effort traded into breaching and leveling the facility on XCOM's part far outweigh the contribution it made to the alien design.

Jax-Mon arrived in a flash of psionic energy, with an unconscious Mox tucked under her arm, aware that every Priest within the quadrant had just been alerted to her arrival. She strode into the facility, ignoring the salutes or genuflection by the skeleton crew that operated the small base, tossing the Skirmisher into the nearest cell. He thumped unceremoniously on the ground in a heap, with only the barest of indications that he was actually still alive. She may have overdone her psionics.

Satisfied, she did not care if her elder came with the intent of questioning her presence in his territory.


	16. Covert

"Will you admit that you don't know where he is within any reasonable moment, Outrider? We're losing valuable scouting time."

Elena waved off the complaints of one of her Reaper pups, though did not blame Franjo Ateljević's – codename Stryker – disquiet restlessness. He'll learn the art of patience yet and what better exercise than one that incorporated their tracking skills? It wasn't often that such a good opportunity as this cropped up for them to flex their skills, though she prayed that Mox – or anyone – getting captured would not be a frequent occurrence.

"There is no man on Earth or in the sea or sky that can escape me." she tells him as she slips into a crouch to inspect a set of disturbed brush. The grass, at a glance, seemed normal, if a little grazed by wildlife. But she saw the crushed blades. Her bare hand reached to touch the patch, determining that it was recently made. Her gaze cuts up to the impatient Reaper.

" – Unless he hopped onto a spaceship and went to Mars, I _will_ find him."

A snort in the back confirmed that Nina Babić – or known as the yearling Hornet – was still with them. A rarity, she likened herself to a lone wolf and Elena fully expected that she would have sought her own sources out by now, regardless of Volk's sanction. She leaned casually against one of the grown trees, keeping her eye not so subtly on their Skirmisher tag along, who was quite happily awaiting for further orders.

Not all Reapers were quite yet sold on the Skirmishers. It wasn't that long ago that Nina was hunting them for sport, but now this uneasy.. truce settled between them. The petty part of her was waiting for the moment Betos stabs their patriarch in the back just so that she could say ' _I told you so'_ , whilst the other was more reasonably adult in that she wanted Volk to strike first and ask questions later.

"I'm struggling to imagine what Mox had done to earn your approval, Outrider." quipped Hornet. " – Did he personally hand you the head of the Hunter?"

"No." Although the thought was fun to entertain, her focus remained on the set of tracks she was identifying. Definitely human. She didn't think anyone but even the most expert of Reapers would pick up on the faint trail – and she knew that it was not because of the her contact's lack of care. It was left purposefully for those who knew where to look.

"Pratal Mox is one of our most fearsome combatants," the Skirmisher sergeant – Erastus, if Elena recalled – contested. " … I am sure he proved himself through his tenacity and skill."

"Yes, rotting somewhere in the alien's grasp really sells me on his skills as a fighter." Hornet leered, hoping to egg the sergeant on to attack her so that she had cause to kill. Not that she needed it, but having it would placate consequence. "For all we know, he could already be dead. Or.. I've heard rumours of ADVENT's _reconditioning_. I bet they're giddy they've got their little field general back, full of our secrets."

At the sound of Erastus' growl, Elena rose from her crouch and whipped around to cuff both of them behind the ears, much to their brief shock and mild affront. Now she was beginning to understand how Bradford must have felt when dealing with the faction's leaders. Though she couldn't imagine the rather distinguished Battelord falling prey to taunts that Volk never would utter.

He was more creative than that.

"Did Volk send me a Reaper, or a paranoid, petty pup?" she criticized and Hornet had the dignity to look shamed. " – If you are not going to **adapt** to the current flow of the world, which is to have us work as equals with the Skirmishers, then you do not belong in our pack."

She already raised her hand to silence her before her protest naturally came. " – Yes. I know you are entitled to your mistrust. I have nothing to hide in front of the Skirmisher's sergeant when I say that I too, am reserved." Her gaze slides to the silent Erastus. It was unnerving to meet those enlarged, unusual eyes that they all had, but Elena hid her discomfort well. "But trust works both ways. They are going above and beyond offering theirs when we have seldom displayed the same back … and I do not blind myself to their effort."

Whatever effect she intended her speech to have, it was lost on Nina. Her scowl was harsh and true, showing an immense stubbornness that only made Elena sigh under her breath. It was not like she could take the moral high ground when she was perhaps the last person that would extend her trust to a Skirmisher. But.. she did stand by what she said. She kept in mind their effort and Mox's sacrifice to ensure that they escaped back in the dead zone.

Dragunova knelt to return to the tracks, finishing up her investigation to a satisfying level to correctly call; gesturing towards a relatively obscured undergrowth a hundred yards away. At a distance, it blended well with the backdrop of the shaded woods, but to her critical eye, she knew better.

Approaching the tangled roots at the base of the tree, she peeled back the dishevelled woodland debris to reveal a tunnel that would have been impossible for critters to build or shape, given the deceptively hidden metal sheen of the underground bunker's walls.

"Stryker, sergeant, take the high ground and keep watch on the tunnel entrance. Cover it up after we enter." Outrider instructed. "Hornet, – at my flank."

She was met with a short chorus of affirmation, some less enthused than the others. Elena tugged her gloves off from her belt and slipped her hands in them before beginning to descend down the tunnel, minding her step for any tricky tree root at the forest floor.

The bunker out in the wilderness of the Eastern United States was once a bomb shelter built deep under the earth. Overgrown now, as if the Earth itself was attempting to digest the cruel metal insertions and sleek man-made walls. It was, however, a lucrative area for the Resistance as it completely flew under ADVENT radar. The only way of contacting the bunker was in person – and that was with the assumption that one knew it _existed_ in the first place.

Elena was privy to such knowledge. In the early years, the Reapers could not sustain themselves as a wholly independent faction of force. Work for resources and food could be found, if one had loose morals and an even looser sense of danger, which fit the non existent work ethic of the new splinter group.

Being a black market gun-runner was not her fondest memory, but it was a testament to what she was willing to do to survive.

She hadn't gotten halfway into the tunnel before she could hear the jeering shouts of loud men deeper in. It created enough racket that she was surprised they couldn't find them simply by listening out for them. She made it to an imposing steel door with a closed slit at it's centre. Removing her mask and clipping it to her belt, she gestured for Nina to do the same.

Five knocks in total. Three in rapid succession, then a second pause before the last two. The din did not quieten at new arrivals, though the slit peeled back to reveal a pair of blue eyes. They scanned her face before the slide closed and the sounds of the door unlocking clicked and creaked, granting them entry into the seedy Black Market.

The _main_ store-front, in any case. There were multiple across the continents, though rarely were as well stocked as the one she knew.

It was how one might think a black market would be; a place to trade and barter illicit goods – the majority of stocks something that would sound insane twenty years prior. Some of the most expensive purchases did not go to firearms, or strange alien tech, but rather tinned goods from 2015 that survived ADVENT's assimilation of foodstuff. Sections dedicated to old world media, products that boasted the lack of elerium and the main attraction of conventional weaponry ranging from automatics rifles to homemade bombs,

Elena's nose wrinkled in irritation once she stepped inside. It was not the acrid scent of a dozen cigarettes, spilt booze and sex that offended her senses, as such a scent was more closer to home than she'd like to admit, but rather a reaction to the bundle of warmth purring at her legs and worming around them, making sure to get all of it's white fur on her nice, black pants' leg.

She crouched to run her hand atop the cat's head. Perhaps one of, if not _**the**_ last domestic felines still alive. ADVENT's policy banned all ownership of animals and ensured that they eradicated anything from domestic to cattle. Elena mused that it must have taken a life out of nine to luck upon an owner who _also_ happened to be steeped in illicit business.

Once the cat tried to reach up and butt it's head against her lowered face, she pulled away and wiped at her itching nose with her wrist.

"If you've finished socializing with the flea-bitten, diseased beast …." prompted Hornet behind her, trying to urge her onward and glaring down at the purring cat that decided to strut over to greet her as well.

"Go and mingle. See if you can learn anything." Elena said. "I will collect you after speaking to my contact."

"Afraid I might swipe him for myself?" the yearling teased, ducking her head to dodge the second cuff behind the ears with an accompanying snorting laugh. " – Too slow, old woman!"

Nina swiftly made herself scarce after a blazing look that passed Elena's eyes, her laughter drowned out by the sound of the Market's bustle. The older Reaper shook her head at the other's antics before slipping easily with the unsightly crowd. None of the patrons of the Market were pleasant to deal with – and she doubted there was an honest Resistance member within a ten mile radius. They were the people that took up arms in a way they believed nobody else had the guts to do.

Elena stopped before a vendor stall of guns, with crude pricing tags made out of cardboard and wedged in between weaponry, or ammo crates marked on the side. She leant on the counter, rapping the wooden surface three times with her knuckle, only for something to catch her eye underneath the counter on the shopkeep's side. She leaned over – stifling a scoff.

"Hopeless." she muttered, staring at the snoring man. Well, a boy, really. A kid of seventeen, with a hat cast over his face and a prosthetic arm from the elbow down strewn over his chest. Short cropped dark hair hung in messy ringlets, obscuring a scar across his forehead that Elena knew to be there. She cleared her throat noisily. "What a great looking weapon. It would be a shame if someone were to steal – "

His flesh hand was on her wrist faster than she could draw a pistol. Recognition sparked in his brown eyes – and a toothy grin split across the teen's face. " – Cousin!"

Elena's arms spread out wide and he happily vaulted over the counter to drag her into a tight embrace. She stumbled a little and patted his back affectionately, grinning aloofly at how she now had to crane her neck to be at eye level with him. She wasn't one for softness, especially when there were eyes everywhere, so she slung her arm around his neck and pulled him down to her level, furiously ruffling his hair much to his babbling protest.

"Yield, yield." he wheezed and she thought about keeping him there a second longer before ultimately let go.

Djordje Dragunova was like her. No family to speak of as it was one of the many things taken by ADVENT. She allowed him to use her surname (something that she too, took from the ashes of her haven) once she was called to Volk's side as his second. A good thing she kept in contact with the lad – as it provided the Reapers a mean to some firearms and supplies through manual labour and gun-running.

"Has the old bastard kicked yet?" she asked fondly for her contact.

Djordje raised his shoulder in a shrug, leaning his lanky self back to prop partially on the counter and scratch at his cheek with the metal finger of his fake hand. "I wish." he joked. " – You know, I'm starting to think the key to immortality is being a cheapskate."

Elena briefly chuckled, though aware that time spent idling chatting with her 'cousin' would mean one second that Mox was closer to the proverbial guillotine. " – Where is he?"

The teen deliberated for a moment. "Ah, cuz, that's … Well, you know. He's out."

Code for ' _I can't tell you or they'll cut out my tongue_ ', if she had to guess. Elena knew, in this case, that pushing him for answers might lead to more problems in the long run. With a disappointed sigh, she held out a small hope that maybe he could still provide them with information. She folded her arms in front of her.

"Anything to my interests that have trickled down the grapevine?"

The teen briefly leant over the counter, rustling some of the goods under the table before pulling out a dingy datapad that was only connected locally, rather than to any external service or internet. An older design – perhaps the ones they started issuing in the 2020's – but it suited their purposes. He scrolled over some data, chewing the inside of his cheek as he did so.

"The Hunter was spotted recently in Oviedo, Spain." He couldn't help a snicker at Elena's face morphing into one of genuine shock. Nobody _**spots**_ the Hunter. Nobody _spots_ him with as much certainty as to actually pinpoint a location. He leaner closer to her like a gossiping old lady over the garden wall. "According to the Haven, he was conversing with another of his kind. I think.. well, it's just speculating, really, but.. we think there's a race of like, Super aliens."

"Did the informant get a good look of who the Hunter was talking to?"

"Oh, more than a good look." he excitedly told. "Here."

A few taps of the datapad had a photo be brought up. Elena inspected it – and colour drained out of her face.

There was a _**third.**_ A psionic user.

She didn't know either to kill Bradford for calling it, or bitterly laugh. Either way, it was something vastly out of her league. Even if she wanted to follow up on the information, if just to get at the Hunter – then she would be sacrificing Mox's life. She handed the pad reluctantly back to Djordje with a tranquil calm that could be an art form in of itself.

"What about the Assassin? Surely some news of her has started to circulate, no matter how recent of a threat she is to the Resistance." she asked, a frown starting to form as the teen began to retreat into his shell once the task of dishing out hard truth fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, cuz." he murmured. "All the information we've got so far is things you already know and I've been running my mouth more than I should. For free, anyway. Boss'd kill me if he heard."

"I owe you," Elena acknowledged, heaving a flat sigh through her nose. Nothing there really assisted with the current problem and whilst she would stay on task, the Reaper could feel her nag for vengeance titter in the back of her mind. The Hunter slipping and letting himself get spotted in Spain was the biggest breakthrough that they've had since the years of facing him as a threat – after all, the agents that went up against him did not make the encounter out alive.

Djordje felt bad that he didn't have the answer for her when he thought that the least he could do was provide her with lead. She'd saved his sorry hide in more ways than one. If there was anyone that had a debt between them, he was swamped with it. He searches swiftly through the internal database, clicking his tongue when he found something.

"I don't know if it's relevant to the blueberry aliens," he prefaced. " – But our sensors in New Mexico picked up a dramatic surge of psionic activity in the dead of night, within the northern wilderness, before it stopped all in the same moment. I'm no expert, but even with strange infestation of those Preachers – "

"Priests."

" – Right, yeah, Priests in that area, it's _never_ spiked like that before. Something bigger and badder decided to come calling."

Elena settled that would be the best lead she would get out of him and the Market as a whole for free – and even if the lead turned out to be this new Chosen they had yet to face, then one should lead to the other, if she played her cards right. She thanked Djordje for his information, drawing him into another quick embrace. It could very well be the last time she sees him for months.

Stepping away from the stall, she cast her gaze outwards to try and find her wayward partner. She did not have to search for far, as the Reaper seemed quite.. _engaged_ with a woman at the wall. Asking herself to have patience under her breath, she stormed over towards the agent, hooked a finger through one of the loops of the utility belt and yanked her free. Nina stumbled, barely managing to find her footing as Elena dragged her towards the exit.

"I was mingling," she was quick to defend herself before Elena even said a word, suspiciously bare hand rising to run a thumb across wet lips. She tugged herself out of her grip and fell into step beside her with a dogged smirk curled across her face. "I _can_ confirm that the owner of the magazine auction was not one of those Faceless infiltrators."

"Do I even bother asking if you learned anything _useful_ to our operation?" griped Elena. Honestly, she considered it her own fault for expecting that Nina would actively assist in a search for someone whom, to her, was ADVENT. The agent in question shrugged one shoulder and waited until they were ascending up the tunnels to speak.

"Not to our current operation, no. But an elerium core **did** manage to find it's way into my pocket.."

Elena scoffed. The woman's light fingers hadn't dulled with age in the slightest.

* * *

A elongated groan of pain escaped Mox's lips once he came to, eyes tightly screwed shut as his hands came to cradle his head. Wits and coherency were tangled together to cast a fog over his mind. He massaged his temple, pinching at the bridge of his nose to try and weather back the thudding headache that seemed to radiate from all sides. There was one thing his instinct was quick to assure him of: he was alive.

As to everything else, he wasn't certain.

Disorientated, the Skirmisher slowly attempted to open his eyes, only to shut them once more as the cell's bright light stabbed into his enhanced vision. Baby steps. He cast a hand over them to create a shaded hood as he tried once more, finding some moderate success in squinting.

The small room looked identical to the one he was in before, but he could tell it was smaller. Mox was by no means a small or skinny man, even outside of the bulky plated armour and he was beginning to feel just slightly claustrophobic, if not because of his primal desire to have some room to roam.

His ankle bindings were missing and his mind caught up through the haze of dizziness that so were the handcuffs, too. Even if he wasn't feeling lethargic and confused, hand-to-hand combat with his warden – a creature born and bred in _direct_ response to the Skirmisher's and their tactics – would not end well.

"I was wondering when you'd awaken."

His gaze gingerly slides towards the Assassin sitting cross-legged, patiently watching him. He tried not to linger on the thought of how long she might've been there for, instead drew away warily to the back of the cell. Her eyes tracked him with the accuracy of a hunting hawk; intense, unwavering purple that could flay anyone under it's gaze.

Jax-Mon was no longer interested in mincing words with the traitor. She had already wasted enough time humouring him with the conversation at her stronghold, letting him sow the seeds of doubt that she struggled to uproot. The short dagger of the katana lay ominously in front of her as a visual warning for Mox.

"I will give you one chance." Which was far more than what her brothers would give, was the unsaid addition. Her voice was toneless and unyielding. None of her prisoners would ever be able to talk themselves free when faced with her. "Tell me where your treacherous kind is hunkered down and the Avenger's current charter."

She delicately picks the dagger, turning it in her palm and running her finger across the flat of the blade, letting him breathe as her gaze finally lifts from his own. " – I promise, on my honour, that I will grant you a swift, painless death. Believe me when I say that is far more than traitors deserve."

He was not built to have a response to fear and thus her offer did not tantalize him as it would a human. Death was but one more battle that they faced on the daily and it could not be cheapened for them if it's meaning never held merit in the first place. Swallowing thickly, he stated far more calmly than he actually felt;

"I will not betray them."

At first, it seemed as if his words merely fell on deaf ears. Her face remained a stoic picture of perfect control as she rose flawlessly. She finished her inspection of the dagger and kept it settled in her left hand – whilst her right shot out and grabbed his wrist.

He struggled weakly against her iron grip, but flesh did not make for excellent tools against the alien alloy plating of her armour. Jax-Mon slammed his arm with more than enough force to pop his shoulder out of it's socket and elicit a sharp hiss of pain from him as she silently levelled the blade to the wrist. Satisfied with the predicted cut, it rose and swiftly descended –

It never came. She froze completely, head snapped to the cell's door, brows steeped in uncertain concentration. Mox ignored how close the blade's edge was to the skin of his wrist to instead favour the same hesitance. He felt the static in the air. Taste it on his tongue. The raw power was unnerving and to someone who could sense it far better than he, such as the Assassin, it off-put her greatly.

She shoved the Skirmisher back, twisting the short dagger to flourish and exchanging no words for him. He hit the ground with a grunt, hurrying to raise, but even as he did and leaned on the bed for support, Jax-Mon had left.

He did not know what was strong enough to draw the Assassin to a dead stop and address it over his interrogation. He prayed it was friendly, whatever it may be.


	17. Compassion

"Ah, _**now**_ she has decided that I am worth her time and presence."

"I apologize, brother." Jax-Mon states, tone very much indicating the opposite, burning fury simmering to a smoulder in her eyes when she levels with Dhag-Il's gaze. His lips were pursed into a thin line of contempt and ridicule, perhaps even a touch _offended_ that she hadn't yet tended to him the second he arrived. Her work for the Elders were more important in her mind than stroking the ego of her self-important elder brother.

" – I was not expecting you."

"You did not expect me … in my own territory?" he echoed flatly, appraising her with that infuriating air of superiority that seemed to beg her ire to be raised. If he took note of her curled lip and tempered snarl, he made no mention of it. The Warlock's eyes narrow and he gestures grandly with a clawed gauntlet.

"If you did not think that I would address all whom enter my domain, then you are sorely mistaken."

"You have addressed me." she cuts him off shortly, her grip never once wavering on the hilt of her dagger. The longer she spent in his company, the bitter her thoughts turned to the betrayal that he still thought her blind to. Her anger bubbled deep in her chest like bile wishing to rise; fire boiling her blood. It was a feat of strength that she hadn't lashed out thus far, but Jax-Mon takes pride in the appearance of tranquillity.

"If that is all, I have a task to return to." the Assassin pauses, cocking her head mockingly towards his direction once she turned. " – Unless your ego believes yourself worthy of preventing the Elders' work, then please, continue to waste both of our time."

His vexation was worth the storm that would inevitability rain over. Indignation flared in his eyes as he scorned; "I am your elder and you will show me _respect_ , Jax-Mon. Have you been listening to our brother's poisonous suggestions, perhaps? This is unlike you."

How cute. He thought that Dhag-Mai had taught her to be disrespectful. No, if anything, the Hunter had been a better guide than the Warlock had ever been, if only to be a prime example of who not to trust and for unpredictable fighting. Instead, she turned to face him once more, free hand splayed as if to taunt him.

"Respect is earned, Dhag-Il." she responds, further stoking the flame. "I have learned that simply because you are older, it does not make you fit to teach me. I denounce you as my teacher and I will carve my own path. Pray that you do not stand in my way."

"You will know your place – !"

" – As this planet's ruler." she calmly finishes for him, her grip on her blade tightening as she fully prepares for a psionic assault. Her posture tenses and her senses screamed danger. "Whereas you and our brother further your own agendas, the Elders will see Their true faithful child among the disappointments."

She thought he might explode, but was instead met with a cold calm that chilled her more than what she expected from him. Enraged spluttering, perhaps. She hadn't simply **struck** the nerve – she might've outright _killed_ it.

"Then let us see if the pupil has surpassed her master."

There was no bladeskill nor hidden sword technique crafted on Earth that could defend or deflect against an attack on the mind. Even inter-dimensional creatures that perfected their own strange ways of swordplay or primordial versions of refined martial arts fell prey to the raw power of psionic assault. That was what made the Warlock so powerful. With so little counters, his strength often went unchecked.

Jax-Mon fully accepted the consequences of initiating such a provoked battle. She would not claim foul play or let her honour be wounded at a lack of preparation. His mental tricks may severely be hampered, as all children of the Elders were psionically gifted and naturally resilient – but that did not tip the scale much in her favour. He has been around long enough, against things _surely_ more resistant than **her,** to develop a way around such defenses.

So she made no attempt to prep a parry for something that could not be riposted. Her mental fortitude already slammed up their fortress-like defense as his psi-energy probed against her own. She reared back her arm and tossed forth the dagger at alarming speeds towards him, all the while using his redirected focus to close the distance between them.

Her dagger did not even come close to him before it was promptly stopped by a barrier that repelled the weapon-turned-projectile, clattering to the floor. It did not take more than a passing thought for Dhag-Il to erect the shield. Psi-energy arced across the conduits of his gauntlets and up his biceps, purple eyes burning bright with power that could be described as strong as their masters. He shot forth a burst of force that erupted just under where Jax-Mon's feet had been – the Assassin artfully diving for the fallen dagger and picking it up in once graceful swoop.

She intended to leap and drive the blade into his chest, but her legs were caught by – something. With the air taken out from her, she crashed hard, feeling herself being clawed by a hundred animals.

The truth of the matter, after glancing behind her, were several spectral beings amalgamating from the surplus of energy that'd attempted to hit her before. They vaguely held a humanoid shape – but it was always shifting, always nondescript. A human's mind might've lost it's sanity trying to make sense of them – or imprint faces upon them from their memories, much like dreams – but to her, she saw them for what they were.

The Assassin twisted around, kicking one of the half-formed torsos and gangly limbs away from her and slicing the heads off two others. Where one fell, three more seemed to congeal from the energy and return to suppress her. Growling under her breath, she bucked viciously to try and buffer them back enough so that she may at least, stand.

It did seem to take Dhag-Il some effort to keep up his growing army whilst preparing for an attack of his own. She awaited the sardonic taunts that thankfully never came. Good. A silent battle was the best she could ask from a brother like him.

Reaching for her hip – after punching another of the lifeless creatures away from trying to gnaw through her armour – she plucks her blinding grenade off from her belt, primes it and tosses it towards the Warlock, satisfied in her analysis that he'd sacrifice his shield for offense.

The grenade exploded, resulting in an almighty cry of startled alarm from Dhag-Il; each of the apparitions dispersing immediately without their master's focus to shape the energy. He stumbled back, eyes streaming and palms delicately cradling his head as his sight was temporarily rent. His wits remained sound, however and swiftly called upon his energy to purge the affliction.

Jax-Mon hoped he enjoyed the bitter irony of blindness as much as she did. She elegantly rose with dagger in hand, stalking closer to her stunned sibling. A soft lilac hue cast a glow in the room as he turned his psionics to fuel his regeneration, but at that point – it was too late. She stood before the Warlock no longer as a subservient, unequal sister, but as the victor. _His better._

Her hand came to his shoulder in a vice-like grip, steadying him for a clean insertion of the blade. She didn't aim for anything life-threatening, even if any penetration with her dagger was a cut to kill, but she knew how to grievously wound a body without outright killing them. As tempting as it was to re-enact her fury from brother to brother, she needed to move on from that cloying desire of vengeance.

He gripped her wrist out of instinct than resistance, but it was pointless to try and prevent damage already done. Orange blood trickled from where the dagger stuck into his lower abdomen and with her presence there to disrupt his focus, it would be impossible to heal it now. He met her stoic, chiselled look of serene peace with black contempt, spending his energy on holding back any sign of weakness when she twisted the blade unnecessarily in place.

"It appears I have bested you, brother." she murmurs gently. Readjusting her grip on the hilt, Jax-Mon swipes the blade out of it's sheath of flesh, finally granting her the airy gasp of choked agony from him. He collapsed to his knees, nursing the wound with a gauntlet wreathed in psi-energy, but he was losing more blood than he could mend.

Dhag-Il glares up at her. His smirk bordered the depths of his cruelty and the promise of inflicting it once he had the chance. It set her nerves on edge, even as the pull of his sarcophagus begun to wrap around him and draw him away from death's door. He managed to leave with a parting comment;

"You will be the architect of your own fall, sister."

Jax-Mon stared at the space where he occupied, now nothing left than the residual energy and the splatter of his blood. A moment passes and she heaves a ragged breath of bared pain, hissing through clenched teeth as some of the spectral beings had managed to pierce through her armour. She crouched to inspect the damage at her ankles, the nerves of her left foot long gone and her warm, meld-infused blood staining through the alloy jumpsuit.

She gingerly touched where two languid lacerations of the psi-creature's claws had pierced. Her natural regeneration had begun to knit the sinews back together, but that didn't make the process any less tolerable. Jax-Mon will allow Mox to live a few hours longer to tend to her injuries.

As she hobbled deeper into the facility in search of a Priest to assist in the process, she didn't notice that the exchange between herself and her brother was witnessed.

* * *

"I would've liked to meet on better circumstances, Commander. Maybe side to side in a final stand." Volk ruefully muses, rubbing his growing beard with a gloved hand, leaning back into the chair. Any sort of movement sent the video feed to flicker, but for the most part, communications had been surprisingly.. stable. Coherent imagery and audio synchronicity were achievable. Which could mean anything from ADVENT backing off radio suppression to better equipment.

"If I had a supply crate for every time someone's told me that, we'd be stocked for years." she gruffly responds, not unkindly. Volk takes a liking to her immediately – but he remained reserved on her so called tactical ingenuity. He knew better than to trust Bradford's fanaticism, especially when it was so obviously blinded by boy-scout hope. " – I take it I'm not the Commander you expected?"

Her gaze cuts suspiciously to her left, which he knows Bradford was lurking off frame. The crackle of background murmuring makes him smirk and the Reaper patriarch snorts a quiet laugh. " – No, but, not in the way you're thinking. I assumed you'd be younger. Red-headed. Spectacles."

"Your dossier is _vastly_ outdated." Kingsley knew **exactly** which photograph he was referring to and grimaced in that same moment. "Hopefully what I lack in youth, I'll make it up in scored marks against ADVENT."

"That's a deal I can get behind." his smirk remains, even as his tone sobers to serious nature of the call. Betos remained unavailable at this time – her leadership was needed more than ever to her Skirmishers without her sergeant and captain – but on this occasion, he knew there was little addition that she could provide. He leans out of the video's frame, rummaging some paperback files before happening on the one she requested.

Volk returned to a casual recline in his chair, turning it a little aside so he can prop his feet up on the adjacent chair, flipping open the beige folder and fingering the documents uncertainly. " – Not much is known on Geist or his Templars. Any dealings the Reapers have had with him or his ilk have never been pleasant, so we try not to encroach in plain sight _too_ much."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he lacked a cigar to chomp, though remained unperturbed to the Commander's growing steely gaze. "I can say he doesn't make a habit of asking people for help. It's the first I've heard of it. If that makes him more or less trustworthy, I don't know. But if you want my opinion – and you wouldn't have dragged me out of bed if you didn't – he's drunk on alien power and got his bucketed head up his own ass."

"Yet not too prideful to request aid." she echoes, diplomatically ignoring the latter half of his opinion and he could see the way her mind worked to sort the information out by the slight shift of her eyes. "If I rescue this … _Paladin_ of his, he seems quite assured he'll be ready to make a choice on abstaining from the war or aiding us."

"I hate fence-sitters." came Volk's grumbled response. Bradford didn't need to be in view for him to know that he likely shared the patriarch's sentiment. " – I have my doubts, Commander. He must not be aware that you've allied with the Skirmishers if he's legitimately considering joining us."

"Geist does not strike me as someone who wouldn't be aware, Volk." Kingsley replied and he was inclined to agree, but doubt was insidious to shake off. "ADVENT has a habit of pushing humanity to the brink of it's determination. We will stand together, regardless of our preconceived thoughts on our fellow man. Even if he does not _fully_ co-operate, a Templar asset is nothing to scoff at."

Kingsley neglected to mention her apprehension of including a psionic user among their ranks and her trepidation was easily masked behind a hard look. Her time spent with the Elders had not made her fond of keeping fragments of their power, even if it was housed in fanatic humans bent on restoring the planet, close to her.

"I think I understand why Betos admires you so much now." the Reaper leader's smirk drops to a slighter warmer smile. They had similar ideals of peace forged from the darkest hour; it was no wonder the battlelord looked up to her – and her sense of practicality appealed to the Reaper greatly.

"In any case, however you want to go about launching this rescue, I have no agents to spare." he added a little regretfully.

"Your wolves have done more than enough for the Resistance, Volk." she admits, her lips finally caving to offer the Reaper a slight, brief smile. It was gone in the same instance. " – Thank you for the swift response."

"Happy to help," he states. "Volk out."

Kingsley waited until the video feed disconnected completely before being unable to keep her strength up any longer. Her knuckles whitened on the rail and her body hunched in preparation for her legs to collapse under her. Bradford was receptive to her, however and swiftly ascended up the steps to wrap a steadying arm around her.

"Get off," she grumbled noncommittally, but made no further attempt to dissuade her friend's aid. Using him as a crutch, Kingsley descended away from the communications terminal to the couches of the Commander's Quarters, sinking into them gratefully and doing her best to withhold a cringe.

"Cramp?" he guessed, to which she nods gingerly and gestures to her left leg. When he knelt down and paused at her leg, he took her gritted hum as consent to knead the muscle. A wheeze of pain escaped through her shut mouth and locked jaw, but her wounded pride hurt more than she was willing to let on. Bradford scolded her gently.

"You're pushing yourself, Dottie. There was no reason you couldn't have arranged to have the communications in the sickbay. The good doctor's going to end up having an aneurysm because of you, I swear. Lieutenant Lovett may very well strap you to the bed."

But he sighed nonetheless, moving to work on her twitching calf. It was an argument he's had with her longer than he'd like and it always ends the same. An empty promise that ultimately was broken by her duty. Once he saw her visibly relax a touch from the tenseness, he rose from his kneel to join her at the couch. She had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

"The war can't be won in there, John. I have to be out and about – seen as strong."

"You won't be seen as very strong if you continue to dig yourself an even earlier grave than what you already have."

Kingsley frowned – and Bradford regretted his choice of words. He tried to salvage what he could; " – I don't mean that …"

"Central," she curtly cut him off and professionalism reluctantly returned to the XO. He reaches for his datapad, bringing up the relevant data, his tone never once giving way to anything less than the expected standard.

"Squaddie Webnar has recently been cleared from the infirmary. However, as this is a delicate mission requiring covert actions, I would suggest a smaller squad intended for infiltration than a fireteam. If Geist has not yet rescued his kin despite knowing her location, then it stands that the facility is more heavily fortified than we have the firepower to chew through."

" – and they're not the stealthiest bunch when they're likely to trip every psionic alarm within a five mile radius." she muses. Bradford nods in agreement.

"We can't expect their aid on the ground. At the very least, he has provided co-ordinates and a map made from stolen data."

"Good. I want Webnar and Kelly on this mission." the Commander said simply. The two rangers were the most versatile than a recently promoted grenadier and a combat medic. " – Get them up for debriefing."

"Yes, Commander."

* * *

Compassion, Hecate found, was something that was going to be her downfall. Letting herself become too vulnerable, wearing her heart on her sleeve was only going to lead to grief and anguish. How many times had humans bared their heart to their world only for it to chew it up and spit it out? Even beyond logic – it simply wasn't in her best, tactical interests. Perhaps this is why Priests never made for good field commanders.

She'd entered Feng's cell after the second psionic presence left it. One of the twins: whomever, it didn't matter. Progress was slow and the longer the Templar withheld her information, the closer to death she stepped. She had been somewhat full of vim and vigour last she saw her. Now she lay in a broken mess at the ground, curled tightly in a ball with only the soft noises of sorrow escaping in gentle hiccuped sobs.

The cell was quite vividly painted in her mind's eye thanks to the splatter of the Templar's psi-laced blood dotting the walls and congealing into a pool at the ground. Hecate cared not for her pristine white armour once she lowered to sit on her knees at the foot of the pool, slipping her hands underneath the knight's arms and dragging her out from her own refuse. She could feel her weakly protest against her, but the act of which sent spasmodic pain coursing through her body.

Hecate lay Luminița's head gently on her lap and the human's body sags with such great relief, as if all her muscles melted to use her as support instead. The chains and suppressors were still so tightly clamped on her person that marks indubitably were beginning to form.

The Priest's hand hovers a little uncertain above the Templar's head, before her fingers carefully caress through the tuft of white hair in what she hoped was soothing. She didn't **quite** know what she was doing, exactly – but.. it _felt_ right. Human mothers do much the same to their young. Luminița did not speak; lacking the strength to do so, but Hecate did not mind the silence.

As she soothes the Templar; she reaches for the psionic suppressors and releases the mechanism just enough to allow her a reprieve. A strangled gasp concluded that it worked, but it would take much time for her to recover to full strength. Hecate allows some of her own power to bleed into her touch to aid the healing, though not enough that Luminița would be able to recognize and feel.

"This is not the compassion and the generosity that the Elders preach," the Priest murmurs under her breath, regardless if the Templar was listening. " … You are just misguided. You shouldn't be _punished_ for ignorance."

Luminița tried to mumble something to retort, but her voice was shot and throat hoarse. Instead, she focused on her psi-energy that pulsed throughout her now that it no longer was being halted to a dead stop, taking comfort in it's warm power.


	18. Suspense

Radio silence fell upon the covert group of three as they breached closer and closer to the alien facility. Elena Dragunova made a mental note of treating her cousin the next time she swung by the Black Market – she hadn't gotten dead information from him yet. Discovering the existence of the small alien lab was one thing, but visual confirmation on both the Assassin and this third Chosen assured her that Mox was in there.

It didn't ease her apprehension in the slightest about the mission itself. There was still the issue of breaking inside, grabbing him and getting out. Not impossible for a squad of Reapers – and a Skirmisher tag along – but with the presence of the Assassin, who lived and breathed the shadows in a way not humanly possible, their task just grew more difficult by the thought.

The Assassin had fought with the white-haired male of her kind, however. They did not seem to see eye to eye with one another, though she wasn't about to make sense of their conversation she heard partly of, the animosity was palpable – sharp enough that she could taste it. Elena couldn't imagine how bitter between them it must have been if it prompted the Chosen to kill.

But a part of her felt that the death she witnessed this day would not be the last time they'd see them.

She'd left, injured, which gave Elena the opportunity to slip inside. Her team were posted around the facility; with Stryker and Erastus making sure the path to extraction was clear. Hornet, typically, had broke away from the group to both her expectation and annoyance. Elena supposed the fact she'd stuck around long enough to mingle with the Market crowd was a feat in of itself and focused her efforts on the task at hand.

Outrider scored along the edge of the pristine window with one of her many tools, popping the glass out of it's frame and catching it before it fell and shattered. Gingerly lifting it out and placing the sheet beside her, she grabbed a hold of the now glass-less window frame and slowly eased herself into the facility. She counted a rhythm in her head to keep track of how many steps the security patrol had taken – and how soon they were to discovering her. Minutes were not plentiful, but to a Reaper, it might as well be an eternity.

The clinic lab that once housed Commander Kingsley was more heavily guarded than this. It would only be her arrogance that got herself caught. So, she treated it like any other high-risk mission, keeping herself low enough to the ground that she could graze the surface of the floor with her finger tips, her trench coat fanning out around her like spreading shadows when she crouched to stop at certain intervals of her internal beat-counter.

The two troopers were none the wiser once they passed by the seemingly empty lobby, not bothering to check behind the sleek black terminals that Elena used as cover. They stopped, surveying around, before ambling onward to the opposite hallway. She waited until they were well on their way before shooting out and heading down the hallway they emerged from.

One of the doors to an adjacent room opened – and Elena froze, plastering herself flat against the wall. A white, lab-coat wearing human walked out, eyes looking rather glazed as she did. Her fingers itched, in preparation to grab the scientist when it seemed she hadn't even noticed that she was there, too engrossed with the data pad in front of her – coupled with the look of someone who hadn't slept for days.

Elena felt pity, but pushed on, nonetheless.

Deeper into the facility; likely restricted to the human personnel, she found the detainment cells. Once more she had to dive to a shadowed corner and wait out the footfalls of the patrol to silence before approaching the three doors. All three cells were locked, but a life signal was being picked up from the middle one by the nanomedkit she'd brought along in case Mox required a little pick-me-up.

Reaching for her datapad, she connected with the cell door, uploading the decryption virus provided by Shen. She hadn't managed to get it working consistently, as her efforts were focused on constructing additional power relays onboard the Avenger – but a half-functional virus was better than trying to crack the door herself. Elena liked to consider herself fairly adept at computing, but a master hacker? Hardly.

The pad beeped softly and it appeared, for the most part, to have worked. Her entire being tensed, like a well coiled spring ready to be released as the door flickered from locked red to open green. She opened it to be greeted with a fist flying towards her.

Her instinct acted first, the flat of her palm driving into his wrist, off-centering his striking fist and curling around his forearm to utilize his own momentum against him. It took them seconds to realize they were not fighting whom they thought they were, but at that point, Elena had already tossed him over her shoulder. He landed with a particularly loud grunt – and she braced for the alarm that … thankfully, did not sound.

She cursed him thickly in Russian that Mox failed to grasp – and at that point, she was already fussing over him in something more understandable. " – What were you thinking? Crazy bastard."

"I believed the Assassin had returned to interrogate me." he answers honestly, accepting her outstretched hand gratefully. Her grip was admirably strong and never once struggled to haul his weight to his feet. Circumstances be damned, a smile tried to worm it's way on the edges of his lips. Social cues may fly right over any Skirmisher's head, but the amount of relief in her tone could fill a battalion.

Her mask hid her face, but he could imagine the theatre show of emotion that played. Her voice instead conveyed it for her. "So you would try to _punch_ her?" Awe. Either at his bravery, or absurdity, that was left a mystery. " – Then what?"

"It was a better idea than waiting to die." Indeed, his plan shaped up to be worse than he initially thought when spotlighted with such incredulity. He jumped slightly when her hand came down to roughly smack his back, the meaning of which was lost to him, but if her muttering of his state of mind, the shake of her head and the lightness of her tone was anything to indicate, it was probably friendly.

"If you can fight, you can walk." she assessed and Mox dipped his head in agreement. She handed him her combat knife, as it was the only other available weapon she had on her besides her rifle. He accepted it. "Good. Let us see if you can manage to keep silent."

He didn't respond to that, which made her lips quirk behind her mask, before it vanished just as swiftly as it came. Gesturing for him to fall behind her, she hadn't lost track of her mental beat, knowing that it would be shortly that the troopers wandered down the hallway. She crept away with Mox at her heels.

Elena's brows furrowed heavily when she heard radio chatter splutter into life. Someone had initiated contact? It was too dangerous to join the channel, but whatever it had been, the line went from active to dead in mere seconds. Odd. It was not like Stryker and she'd like to give credit to the Sergeant as well, to _accidentally_ make contact during silence. They might have spotted something – enough to warrant alerting her... but then thought better of it? No. Too unlikely.

Her nerves took a wary notice.

"Dragunova?" inquired Mox quietly behind her as they stalled in the hallway, at the entrance of an empty conference room. She remained silent, fiercely gesturing him to do the same as she watched the shadows expand and grow closer. The patrol was off-beat. How annoying. The door was unlocked, allowing her to shove the Skirmisher captain inside and follow suit. The footfalls grew closer, louder … until quietening.

After a tense moment, she slid the door open just a crack. No response. She pulled it open the rest of the way and slipped out with Mox.

With a manual grapnel and rope, she swung the head of it a few turns before tossing it upwards to the glass-less pane. The hooks dug into the frame and with an experimental tug, began to ascend and pull herself up to the first tier ledge. Elena waited until Mox was beside her before gathering the rope into tight loops and stashing the grapnel away inside the depths of her long coat.

"Were you counting on me being conscious?" he asked, noting their way of escape and couldn't imagine that it was her original plan.

"I completely expected Shen's virus to fail." she told. The Skirmisher assisted her in replacing the glass, standing by as she solders it back. " – but if Fate favours either you or I, I'm not sure."

"I have no concept of that." Mox shrugs. "Only measurable skill."

Elena doesn't respond to him. Instead, she leans back, inspecting her work. Untraceable, just how she liked it. Rising to stand, she presses a button on the side of her mask, breaking the radio silence.

"Stryker, Erastus, prep for extraction." She stepped forward, intent on continuing to the safe zone, only to halt at the piping she'd used to scale up to the ledge in the first place. Mox regarded her carefully as she slunk back into a crouch. " – Stryker. Erastus. Come in."

Nothing but silence on her end – not even the crackled feedback of communications left abruptly. They must have purposefully turned off the devices, but – what for? No logical justification could be made other than their position had been compromised and she cursed blackly under her breath. She slid down the pipe, gauging if it was safe to do so beforehand. No personnel patrolled outside of the facility itself, except from it's main entrance where the gate was flanked by booths manned by Officers.

Reaching for her Vektor rifle, Mox took that as cue to brandish his blade. Something had clearly off put the Reaper enough to have her on high alert and he was inclined to wholly trust her senses.

She switched the local channel to the emergency direct one to the Avenger. Her transmission was accepted immediately and Bradford's voice came in broken waves. " – Central."

"We need Firebrand. Now." she _politely_ demanded. "I have no confirmation on the status of Stryker and Erastus. Their positions have most likely been compromised."

"And Mox?"

"Secure." she reports. "How long – "

* * *

All technicians on the Bridge of the Avenger, Bradford included, froze at the sound of the scream ripping through the central deck. It was not an uncommon noise when making hasty calls to havens under attack – but that never dulled their empathy towards the sheer amount of pain they heard in Elena's cry.

Naturally, Central was first to snap back into action. " – What the _hell_ are you all waiting for?! Give me visuals!"

Stirred into activity, the technician in control of providing such a thing set straight to work, fingers furiously tapping along one of the many consoles built into the Avenger. The front screen melted into a sea of black data, slowly building the facility compound up from the various information gained from sources, their own archival knowledge and from the Wraith team's trackers.

Bradford gripped tightly on the railings, waiting impatiently for the imaging to load. Elena's vitals were brought up quicker than the visual representation and whilst he was no doctor, the numbers looked deathly to his eye. "Come on, Dragunova.." he urged under his breath. It wasn't magically improving, but it's plunging descent did peter out to a stop. The previous communication crackled and a familiar voice took over in Elena's stead.

"I've administered the medkit and she appears to be stabilizing." Mox informed, much to the collective relief of the Bridge crew. It was unfortunately short lived. " – She is still bleeding. I.. have never encountered a wound like this before. If I do not get her to a doctor soon.."

Bradford was already issuing Dawn to board the Skyranger before he'd finished his grim analysis, knowing full well that his Commander was going to investigate why her nurse suddenly had to be pulled out to duty. His primary concern remain steadfastly with the covert team.

"Get yourself and Dragunova to some cover, Captain." Central ordered, his statement nebulous as he had no real idea of the layout beyond wire mesh and hijacked satellite photographs. A live video feed was impossible to establish, but the visual technician managed to jerry-rig some sort of coherent footage, allowing Bradford more tactical information. " – Go under the incline."

He kept his eye on the two dots of the figures, nearly merged into a single entity as Mox hauled the fallen Reaper over his shoulders. Bradford checked up on the status of the Skyranger. " – Firebrand?"

" _Lift off in three, Central_." came her response over the line. " _Lieutenant Lovett's securing the stretcher. Can't really have her operating on the ship's floor. It's_ filthy _. But that's what you get when you have an overabundance of carcasses to –_ "

"Less chatter, ace."

" _Aye, sir._ "

"Your flanks are completely exposed under the incline. Take the shadow of it instead. The only way they'll be able to attack you there is directly in front."

Bradford's head snapped towards Kingsley, whose health looked as though it hadn't improved since he'd last left her to rest. As much as he wanted to scold her and call Tygan to get her back into the sickbay: having her XO directly oppose her in front of all of the Bridge's staff would kill her chances of assuming command. Swallowing his protest thickly, he instead curtly addresses her.

" – Commander."

"Central." she responds in turn. He finds it impossible to ignore how much she struggled to simply ascend up the deck's stairs to take the Command's position. How tightly the muscles in her face were worn into a permanent grimace that gave off the impression of a stern, no nonsense woman. Which was true of Kingsley, but he doubted anyone alive beside himself knew what she had been like when she was free of pain.

Mox hadn't moved from his former position, which prompted Bradford to say; " – I second Commander Kingsley's order. Move to the shadows."

Now he did.

As they continued to remain in contact, the facility slowly became aware of the signal and with that came the raised alarm. It was confirmed shortly that Mox had escaped and the escapee in question knew it was only a matter of time before such information reached the Assassin. Perhaps less than he had to save Elena's life which ebbed away. He could hear her low muttering, broken English and Russian babbling out nonsensically. Evidently, the medkit hadn't done much in the way of soothing her.

"Is this how you'll die, Dragunova?" he asked quietly, making sure she was still lucid, or at the very least, awake. "Are you really going to let _me_ outlive **you**?"

"Fuck you," the Reaper slurred in pain. It lacked her usual bite, but he didn't care. She was still with him. An elongated groan of discomfort escaped between her clenched teeth and he could truly emphasize, having been on the receiving end of the Assassin's blade; and with that mortal blow came the teetering edge of life and death. " – Not going to die. Still got.. your ass to kick .."

" – Remaining hunkered down on the ground with no available firepower is going to get you served on a silver platter." the elusive voice of the Commander drifted from the two-way radio. It was oddly calming, in a way of someone who dealt with the crisis first and the grief later. "Once Firebrand gets close, every ADVENT soldier is going to hone in on your position. Get to the high ground and stay hidden."

Bradford watched his Commander at work tenaciously, but seconded her order once again. She looked as she did twenty years ago, the same chiselled look of concentration focused on the visuals on screen and the information he funneled. But he noticed the way her arms tremor slightly, supporting herself with the railing. The thin line of sweat from exertion. If she had difficulties **now** – would she even last a _year_?

She winced before the images began to flicker and distort. Bradford sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "Stabilize the imaging, Banks."

"Sir, we're all stable this end!" the technician in question huffed. It was bad enough operating alien tech that they all barely understood and with which they learned new things everyday, but for all accounts, the visuals should be normal. Whatever was disrupting the signal was something entirely otherworldly.

Central's gaze cuts across to Kingsley. She hadn't improved and was nursing her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her lips moved, but no words formed. He was about to question her when an entirely alien voice drifted over the comm-line.

" _Commander_." it purred. Ecstatic _contempt_ was not pleasant on the ear in the slightest. It sounded as if it manifested inside of all of their heads, yet somehow was being projected through the radio. Which was impossible – Shen assured him of their broadcast security. They would've known they were being hijacked.

Unless they had a backdoor. Bradford's gaze bores as it rests on his Commander. A _**psionic**_ backdoor.

" _Have I got your attention?_ " the voice mused playfully. " _If I had known all it took to draw you out was one little glancing shot on a Reaper, I'd have done it sooner – My, you do_ not _look well. Trouble standing?"_

"Cut the channel." Central ordered.

"Belay that." the Commander intercepted strongly. It silenced her XO swiftly and the engineer had no choice but to obey a superior's command. Her attention returned to the mysterious intruder. If she kept him talking, focused on her: it would buy Mox more time. " – I see you've degraded yourself to doing Their dirty work, boy."

" _Anything to stop Their incessant whining._ " he agrees. Bradford did **not** like the fact they sounded as if they were having a legitimate conversation. " _– But then again.. you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Commander?"_

The Hunter pounced on her lack of response swiftly with a sardonic chuckle, sowing the seeds of doubt. " _Oh. You haven't told them. Of course you haven't.. they would all run away screaming if you had. It's not surprising that your crew are as dense as the docile populace, unable to put two and two together."_

Kingsley's lips formed a hard line, her gaze off-centre to the approaching co-ordinates of Firebrand. Just a little bit longer..

The visuals shifted on screen, showcasing a different view. Instead of the spotty footage constructed out of rapid images, the perspective was shot far up into the high ground, showcasing a pensive Mox hunkered at the base of a tree with Elena in tow. Kingsley could feel the tangible tension throughout everyone on the Bridge.

" _I'll cut you a deal, Commander. The Elders want you back and frankly, you can't survive for much longer without their aid."_ the Hunter began. _"Come quietly and I'll let your pet abomination live."_

He pauses, then adds with a grin to his tone; _"You'll even have my word on that."_

"Your words are as trustworthy as the Devils themselves. _"_

" _Suit yourself."_ he said. The crack of the Darklance thunderously roared, with the smoke of the rifle buried deep within the canopy of trees, indicating where the Hunter had been lurking the entire time. They all braced for Mox's cry, but it never came. The shot was deflected. The Hunter's silence was telling, to say the least.

The psionic cloaking dropped to reveal the Assassin. Hiding from her brother's Elder-given sight was the greatest test of her psi-capabilities. Her success, however, was overshadowed by the encapsulating, raw _fury_ that was etched on her face.

In an instant, XCOM's visuals returned back to their control and Kingsley hissed softly. She sagged at the railings – and Bradford suppressed the urge to move to her side to support her, instead sweeping in to issue orders quickly.

"Status, Mox?"

"The Assassin is completely uninterested in us. She's .. attacking the other Chosen, I think." he responds. He sounded taxed, most likely rushing from under the Chosen's noses to head towards the extraction point. The humming of the Skyranger's engines grew closer.

" – We are on board the Skyranger as I speak. Lieutenant Lovett is currently tending to Dragunova."

Bradford heaved a sigh that the entire Bridge shared, smoothing a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and sharing a look with the Commander. He did not want to celebrate until he got the all clear on Elena, however. Or until he learned just how his best friend was so familiar with the Chosen.

"Get home safely, Wraith-one."


	19. Leader

The energy of the teleportation still lingered on both of their armour once Jax-Mon transported them far away from the facility, into a stronghold that neither of them owned. If Dhag-Mai recognized where they were, he made no comment of it yet – far too focused on struggling out of her vice-like grip around his neck. His elbow drove roughly into her gut, knocking the wind from her and tightly grasped her forearm, tossing her forward.

He knew such an act was pointless – her unnatural agility would never allow her to be floored unless physically restrained – but it bought him the time he needed to draw his Darklance. His wrath bled into a worsening aim and he growled deep in the pit of his throat as yet another of his perfect shots were merely deflected.

"You are really starting to annoy me, sister." he informed, belaying the truth of just how much ire she managed to draw from him. If her newfound purpose was reveling in the fury she'd gained from failure, then it was _**mild-mannered**_ compared to the sheer amount of hatred _he_ was capable of. She had but a fraction's taste.

However, unlike her, he was allowed to hate. Nothing spurred a great hunt quite like a harsh rivalry – and what better one than his own, unwanted sibling? He wouldn't deny the excited thrill of a challenge after what felt like an eternity of shooting fish in a barrel, but having legendary patience and insurmountable tolerance were two very, very different things.

He was not very tolerant.

"You can only better yourself if faced against a stronger opponent." she bites back. He supposed she thought that insulting, but the only urge he got was the one to roll his eyes. Even Reapers barked louder than her. The only reason he hadn't yet shot her was because the Darklance required to recharge after so many shots made in succession, but he tracked her prowling form with the muzzle nonetheless.

His gaze shifted – and now he recalled where they were. His lance lowered, eyes squinting behind the hood as he glanced around to truly confirm what he saw. " – Why did you bring us to our brother's stronghold?" A pause, then a leer. "Ha. Did you think you'll have an ally in him? That I'll listen to the oh so wise words of our elder?"

Jax-Mon flourishes her blade in a way that indicated she was standing down. He knew better, of course, but the silent ceasefire was established between them, if only just for a moment. "You will learn soon enough. If you've decided to let reason govern your actions now, then come."

"If you think I'm going to follow you with anything less than a gun to your head, then I overestimated your intelligence." Although his tone lilted sarcastically, there was a dangerous edge of warning in it, one that she disregarded.

"I thought you enjoyed games, brother." she innocently mocked, head tilting in faux confusion. The rising urge to go with his former half-thought plan of snapping her neck for the sheer cathartic release of it was starting to shape up to be the best tactical solution, even if he knew better.

"I'm not fond of being the player. More of a gamemaster myself." Dhag-Mai glares at the back of her head as she turns, beginning to descend deeper into the compound, likely in search of their brother. She fully expected that he would just follow, didn't she?

…

He _**was**_ curious.

The Hunter slunk after her, keeping enough distance so that his rifle may still be useful. She didn't glance once to confirm if he was indeed behind her or not, but then again, he did not blame her for being more reliant on her keen senses than sight. She was not the only thing that moved through the shadows like one breathed air. Jax-Mon was.. oddly composed for someone who caught both brothers trying to meddle with her work –

Ah. Now he knew why she had brought him here.

As the unknown cleared up, an easy grin slipped onto his face. He still wasn't sure what she was expecting to achieve from this, but it would prove amusing to watch her make a human out of herself nonetheless. Oh, he hoped the Elders decided to check in that moment. Perhaps in pride to see them together, only to bare witness to just how far Their precious daughter had fallen.

It had been years since he'd stepped foot inside Dhag-Il's inner chambers. It was exactly the same as his perfect memory remembered it, if with the slight changes within the Priests, here or there. They bowed or knelt respectfully when they passed, but what was more interesting to his keen eyes was Jax-Mon's discomfort at such unwarranted praise than the Priests themselves. Perhaps her ego wasn't as engorged as he thought it might've been, after knowing she'd spent time with their elder sibling.

Whilst Jax-Mon embraced a mask of composure, it hid her turmoil well. She was angry, but like when she discovered the Warlock's betrayal, it was – an upset. She fully expected the Hunter to spend his time finding ways to hurt her, that was a given. But it was becoming harder to stomach the _why_. Boredom and hatred, for reasons she made for him to justify his actions. She refused to believe that he detested her simply because of existence, yet..

How on Earth did a human _function_ if pity was so easy to drown in?

She tried not to let it consume her, but the same questions repeated ad nauseam in her head. _Why, why, why_? At least when they had the Commander hooked into the Network, she could have sought answers to her plight with her memories. No doubt a life lived as long as hers have met with many unpleasant people.

Perhaps.. _this_ was the true test from the Elders.

They had said he was meant to test her. All this time, she believed it was her prowess in battle – but what if it was her **compassion**? The Elders were so forgiving, so generous. She should follow Their example and turn the other cheek, though not be afraid to defend herself if he was going to give her disrespect. She would prove Mox wrong. She _was_ capable of empathy. Of love.

… _He didn't deserve her love_. One thought was all it took to have her back to square one, lamenting over the same questions, the same vacant answers. This truly was a more difficult test than anything of battle. Being stuck in the same perpetual cycle of anger towards her siblings and rage to her failure was not _growth_.

But that was why she had brought him here – and the fact that Dhag-Il hadn't immediately threw them out as he knew they were here the moment she teleported them both in proved that he was open to at least talk as well. He _did_ have some wits about him after all.

Did humans find it in their heart to forgive those who transgressed them? There would be no word, no meaning behind ' _enemy_ ' or ' _rival_ ' if that was the case, surely. Perhaps her focus should move away from forgiving her brothers and instead on those who adored her. ADVENT. One of her first thoughts when unleashed into the wide world was her appreciation towards them over her siblings.

But she also made a promise, her first ever, to slaughter those that stand in the way of her work to the Elders. Her honour screamed at the prospect of a broken promise – but her mind begged for mercy.

Jax-Mon will forge a blank slate with her siblings this day. A different charter – a new goal. In the end, they all wished for the same thing. If humans found it in themselves, the lesser pitiful creatures that would turn from friend to foe at a given notice - to band together towards a unified objective, then it should be capable of them. The Chosen. The Elders' sons and daughter.

Even _thieves_ had **loyalty**.

Pushing past the double doors, the meditation chamber was familiar to her eye, though it had been some time since she sat with her sibling as a student. Her gaze turns to the centrepiece of the room. The wound she had inflicted upon the Warlock had healed, though their flesh was easier to mend than the alien material of their armour. It was strange to see him lack the distinctive, thick regalia on his person but he never once lost any of his intimidation.

He regarded them, lacking his air of superiority. No, instead, he had nothing but guarded caution for them. Having one visit him willingly meant they either needed his assistance or to further their own miserable purposes – but _both_ harken to the time of the Elders' call. No such thing had been issued, so this meeting was entirely of their own making. Or, more appropriately, of _Jax-Mon's_ making.

He wasn't particularly fond of his sister after she sent him at the foot of death's door, but he put aside his pettiness for vengeance for now to see what she wanted. If only so he may ridicule her desires. Judging from the Hunter's surprising _**impatience**_ , he likely shared the same. Imagine that. A mutual thought and feeling with his only brother.

Dhag-Mai stalked to the side, taking the meditation mat that was to his elder's right, whereas the Assassin much preferred the left. He wasn't much for their zen practices when the time between marking a target and taking his first shot put their few hour long sessions to shame.

She did not take her place, however. Instead she remained standing tall in the centre, staring down at her brothers.

"You are _both_ a disgrace to the Elders." she announced.

Dramatically, the Hunter placed his hand over his heart, acting as if her words cut him deep, unaffected by her narrowed glare that was shot his way. In fact, he took it in stride, meeting her gaze with a taunting smirk. The Warlock sneered, though allowed her to finish.

"We have each been tasked to return the Commander. I have steadily been working towards this goal and what have either of you done? Attempted to sabotage my efforts. Either together, or as your own choice. I made a promise that I would slaughter anyone in my way."

"Is that the reason you've brought us all together, sister?" inquired Dhag-Mai. The prospect of an all-out brawl did appeal to him and he allowed his excitement to show. " – That's not what our masters would call family-friendly fun, but I approve, nonetheless."

"Would you be silent for _once_ in your bloated lifespan, brother?" she snapped, before exhaling softly. Composed. She would get through this composed. No matter how difficult the Hunter was making this for her. " – No. I have not brought you here before our elder sibling to fight. I also do not expect either of you to put aside your differences for us to work as a team as They intended."

Her gaze returns to the Warlock, measuring. "But," a pause. "XCOM stands a greater chance with us divided. All I want is the will of the Elders seen through. _You_ of all people, brother, can appreciate that."

Dhag-Il makes a non-committal hum, unsatisfied with the fact that he found her words sound. "You have low expectations, assuming that we would not be willing to help each other in need for the greater good of the Elders, sister. Do you really think so little of us?"

"No more than what you or Dhag-Mai think of me, I'm sure." His lips thin to a line at her answer. Not even a hint of bitterness in her voice – merely hard fact.

"We will never see eye to eye." he agrees shortly. Be that because of their own agendas or competitive nature, he left the reasons open for them to fill in themselves. "But that does not mean that I have thought ill of you, sister. We all work to please our masters – "

"Is _that_ so!" the Hunter's voice piped high, laced with so much incredulity, it almost cracked. His smirk turned wry. It wasn't that long ago he'd dropped by to involve him in his plot to kill the killer, as it were. He leaned forward from his position, a flaying glare resting at his older sibling as he turned conspiratorially to Jax-Mon. "I wonder how long it took him to perfect lying without so much as a twitch of a muscle to give him away. All those sermons on the Elders' word _must_ have paid off."

"How _**dare**_ you insinuate that the words of the Elders are lies – !"

The Assassin vanished from sight, only to reappear at the edge of Dhag-Mai's vision. His pistol had been drawn, but she anticipated his show of force to egg Dhag-Il into attacking him, standing between her and her elder. She almost chopped his hand off in her fading patience, but settled to ram the pommel of her katana into the back of his hand and loosen his grip enough that she may seize the Darkclaw from him.

"Cease your pointless squabbling! If _**I**_ am capable of looking past your – and Dhag-Il's – misgivings for a unified future, then you are too." she hissed, emphasizing her words by letting the pistol fall to the ground in a discordant clatter. "Among you both, I have more than enough reason to vilify and distance myself from this family, Elders not withstanding."

"All I hear is talk, sister." the Hunter points out with a curl of his lip. "Get to the point of your proposition. Or am I to expect you believe we can act like a real family and hug out our grievances? Have a good cry and be on our way?"

She snorts, but pushes away, back towards the centre. Her hand glows a soft lilac; matching the magenta of her eyes as a sphere of psi-energy forms, big enough for her to shape the various quadrants and sectors that made up Earth. The psionic display rotated in place and she circles around to allow an unobstructed view of the constructed globe.

"We need to re-establish our territories." she states, swift to continue as Dhag-Mai looked ready to rip into her deal; " – I understand that you had such a thing sorted between yourselves, but nothing has been reaffirmed since my birth into this world. I have facilities under my control that encroach Dhag-Il's territory. My stronghold borders on _your_ favoured hunting ground."

Her gaze drifts between them. "If we are to have _any_ success capturing the Commander, we cannot continue to overlap like this, lest we are shamed once more like the failure at _Quadrant-7."_

"What is there exactly to stop us wandering?" Ever the critique, the Hunter was. He remained a skeptic to her proposal. "If I learn that the Commander is operating in an area that just happened to be yours, I am not going to simply remain idle."

"We cover more ground this way." she countered. "You are a master tactician, Dhag-Mai. You can see the value of covering as much ground as possible. We possess vast power – but we cannot be everywhere at once. This ensures that no matter where she goes, one of us will be there to respond. I am sure there are other tasks you can occupy yourself with whilst XCOM is elsewhere."

Begrudgingly, that did sound like they were making a genuine, unified effort without any of the issue of working together in each other's company. He was also the least interested in becoming the planet's ruler in any kind of way, so he cared little for the competition itself.

" – And who is to designate our territories? It was well established before and I will not hemorrhage any of my landmasses to you, sister." the Warlock murmurs. "I certainly would not allow you to pick and decide for us all. I should be the one to – "

"Absolutely not." cut in the Hunter. "The last time you were allowed to do that, I ended up with a bunch of useless, tiny islands. Nobody in their right mind would inhabit them – and all that was left were weak, wild animals that provided no sport at all."

"A Priest then." Dhag-Il amends with an exasperated sigh. Once more, he was met with his younger brother's disagreement.

"With a bias towards you, brother? I don't think so."

"The ADVENT Speaker will decide for us."

The brothers' gazes snapped to Jax-Mon – silent. The Speaker was, as his title implied, the voice of not only ADVENT, but the Network itself, making him the mouthpiece of the Elders' gospel in a way humanity could comprehend over the advanced scripture the Warlock preached. A neutral body, for he provided aid to all three Chosen should they request it and played no favourites. He was incapable of bias.

An odd position to be in, both servant and holding authority. But it was in that fine line that allowed for Jax-Mon's proposal to come into fruition. If the Network defined their territory, they had ADVENT's backing if one sibling stepped out of line … and whilst they didn't have individual strength to topple the Chosen, their seemingly infinite legion would get boring to kill after a while.

"Are we in accord?" she patiently asks as they deliberated. Typically, the Hunter merely offered his shrug – which was as close to a 'yes' that anyone could get out of him – and the Warlock dipped his head slowly.

"Good."

* * *

Never, in his years of knowing the Chosen, would Ishmael begin to imagine them co-operating. In a perfect world – in the Elders' vision – they stood together harmonically. But the faults of their bloodline, diluted with humanity's genes rent them impossible of ever achieving that level of symbiotic cohesion.

That was why Jax-Mon was so important to Their vision. She was a different creation, entirely of Their own designs. It took years to blueprint her, let alone begin to craft the Chosen from scratch.

Here she stood as They intended; in front of her elder siblings. A _**leader**_. Still very much in her infancy and he had monitored the bumps along the way as a silent watcher – for if she **_did_ ** stray too far from Their path, he had orders to intervene. The Speaker allowed her to develop and grow and, importantly, learn to think for herself. Let her fail, but let it be a failing of her own making. Her brothers vastly underestimate their masters, both in Their ability to create and to plan.

The Ethereals may not be military geniuses – that was why they sought the Commander to solve _that_ weakness – but they knew how to manage the most successful galactic empire and all the various trials and tribulations that came with such a thing. They knew how to shape _life_ to suit Their purposes.

This proposition of territories was entirely _**her**_ own idea. He masked his joy well with his usual, sparkling smile and warm eyes behind the glasses feeding him information directly from the Network – the trial and error to get to this part showed a willingness to exhaust all possibilities. She tried to work with her brothers and they let her down. She tried to face them, match them spite for spite –

And now, she worked _around_ their differences, to her advantage.

Oh, if only he could let her know how proud the Elders were of her. Their song was one of delight and he desperately wished to pass the message along as was his duty. But They had to remain uninvolved for now whilst They worked on a separate … _project_. All in due time he would get include her into the grand design, once she was ready.

"The Network already recognizes which sectors are controlled by whom." the Speaker informed, clasping his hands on his desk in front of him. If the office was cramped before when Jax-Mon visited it by herself for her scolding, then it was suffocating with the three Chosen. Unfortunately, like them, the Speaker has yet to master the art of being multiple places at once – and he couldn't be seen interacting with these god-like figures, lest the humans believe they too were allowed.

"However.. it also tracks which areas you have visited most, to least." he reaches under his desk – plainly ignoring the Hunter's natural habit of resting a hand to the grip of his pistol as his instinct assumed the Speaker must have been aiming for a gun – to bring out a datapad, opening up a more visual representation of his words.

"All of the sectors within _Quadrant-33_ have as low visit rates as zero point fifty seven." he gestures to the chart. To the humans, that particular quadrant was known as the continent of Africa. " _Quadrant-27_ is criminally unoccupied."

Western Europe. The Eastern part was managed by the Hunter and where Jax-Mon's stronghold rests so closely too. He continued smoothly. " – As there is a prevalent presence of rebel ADVENT known as the Skirmishers operating within _Quadrant-33_ , it is logical to take the continent out of the Warlock's possession and reassign it under the Assassin's command."

Speaker Ishmael's settled his gaze on the Hunter, knowing he was going to be the difficult one when he added; "As well as _Quadrant-27._ "

"That's **my** hunting grounds." Like clockwork.

"Yes, well, according to the Network, you have made only ten hunts within the quadrant, compared to fifty six in the more psi-rich lands of the Eastern half. Your efforts are better spent there, so wills the Elders."

Dhag-Mai folded his arms and huffed, but could not argue against the will of the Elders. How infuriating.

"Then everything is settled." Jax-Mon states, looking more comfortable in the too-small seat than she had the first time she'd visited his office. A strange feeling rested on her chest, like the dawn of something new, the birth of a new star. She could feel the tides of change she had caused and it both riled her anticipation as well as her uncertainty.

What was done here had been a first among the Chosen – as she doubted her brothers spent the time together long enough to even decide their territory. They simply took two halves of the world and remained separated.

Dhag-Il rose to leave the second Ishmael's head dipped in a nod and the Hunter wasn't inclined to stay for much longer either. They actually got through a meeting of a sorts without more than a single attempt at each other's lives. It was a _miracle_. Once both her brothers had teleported out, Jax-Mon's body sagged so _visibly_ when the tenseness left, it made the Speaker chuckle under his breath.

"You held yourself well against them, my dear." It wasn't quite what he wanted to say, but he supposed the Elders wished to give Their praise Themselves than through him.

"I will be honest, Speaker." she demurred. "I suppressed the urge to kill them _at least_ five times. Getting blood out of a stone would have been less frustrating than dealing with their insidious nature."

She shook her head, rising to leave, only to be stopped by his polite cough.

"Before you depart, Chosen." he gestures her to return to her seat. She does so. " – There is something we must discuss."


	20. Discovery

"You're going to wear the metal out if you keep pacing like that, Volk. Or wake up half our wounded."

The Reaper patriarch ignored the quipped comment of his old friend, his steps thunderous as he stalks back and forth across the small, makeshift waiting room of the infirmary. He liked to consider himself a patient man – he was, after all, the leader of the hunters – but when it concerned information on one of his own pups, his nerves frayed and trepidation set like bedrock in his stomach.

Three hours. Elena Dragunova had been in surgery for three hours. That wasn't even taking in account the triaging that the CMT must have performed aboard the Skyranger. He hadn't time to mourn the loss of Stryker, let alone flay Hornet alive for leaving them. But a part of him was morbidly glad she'd ditched the covert operation – after all, she too could have shared the same fate. One more funeral pyre to plan.

The straight whiskey he'd downed earlier shuddered in his nervous nausea. This was a side of him that not many were privy too, but Bradford had seen him at his worst. The biggest failure that cost the Reaper several of his comrades, not due to tactical error but _starvation_ had changed him. He seemed far more embracing and appreciative of life than ever.

He couldn't lose Dragunova. The agent was his surrogate daughter, taken under his wing once their haven had collapsed and she was left bereft of a family. It was Volk's greatest weakness – all Reapers were seen in his eyes as a unit of cohesion, but none had quite taken his heart like her. He made a promise that day of the ADVENT raid he'd always look out for her. Protect her.

Volk ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, which had escaped the headband in oily locks. The wrinkles of his face deepened with the taught frown he'd worn since he arrived on board the Avenger, his gaze ever so often jumping to the theatre where she was being operated upon. He stopped at his seat – shifted his weight from one foot to the other … and resumed pacing.

"I don't think Miss Elena would want to see you like this, Volk." gently Kingsley broached, rising to meet the much taller man. Age had shaved off a few inches, but even then the patriarch was towering. She risked settling a hand on his forearm, stilling his restless pacing. He squinted down at her with bloodshot, anxious eyes, bushy brows furrowing in a half-hearted glare.

"Don't you speak for her. You've never met her, or know what she'd like." he muttered, though it came across more like a wounded bark than a serious bite to get her to back off. She knew he was reluctant to open the shell around himself and it came across like a cautious animal that swiped first and greeted later.

"No, but I've got children of my own, Konstantine." the Commander held her soft tone. It wasn't the first time she's had to step in and offer advice, even as unsolicited as it was. She lead him by the arm to return to the chairs and he begrudgingly sunk into them as she joined him, squeezing his arm slightly in reassurance. " – I can assure you, though they were all vastly different to one another, none of them would want me to worry. I don't think I'm wrong when I say your daughter is the same for you."

He grimaced, though his shoulders sagged in defeat. He grumbled out a few select words in Russian that she understood by tone alone, before he spoke up; " – It's not easy. Everyday could be our last and we court death for sport. But..."

"You're human." she informs patiently. "It's in our nature to fret and care when faced with our own or our loved ones' mortality. No amount of killing or witnessing death will ever change that fact."

"You can numb yourself to it, but it doesn't take the pain away." helpfully Bradford pitches in, though his voice was oddly hollow. Speaking more to himself than to add to Kingsley's advice. Coming to terms and coping with death, especially of someone close or loved, was something that set him on edge. After all, when would it be him pacing up and down the infirmary with a consoling Volk by his side?

A wry grin worms it's way over Volk's frown, but it doesn't remain for long. He lightly tugs his arm out from Kingsley's grip so he can wipe at his face, stress needling the back of his mind in the form of an almighty headache. He appreciated the words of his friend and the Commander – but it didn't soothe his doubts, fears and worries one bit.

The theatre doors open by the assistant nurse, causing all three present to tense in anticipation. Volk sucked in a sharp breath and tried to look past the nurse. He might've simply bolted in there had Dawn not emerged shortly. Although a medical mask covered most of her expression, her eyes sagged with tired bags of a sleepless doctor, though she seemed relaxed.

"I have been practicing medicine longer than I'd like to admit and I have _never_ seen a wound like that." she prefaced exhaustively, if only to highlight at the miracle that had yet to be announced. "A strange ammunition to ensure that the victim bled as much as possible whilst not being life-threatening enough for a kill had been routed out of her lower abdomen. Whoever shot her had no intention of –"

"Is she alive!?" the Reaper demanded, slipping off the edge of his seat to stand. He'd already begun to try and push past her into the theatre when he was stopped by her surprisingly strong grip of warning.

"Yes." she told. "Miss Dragunova will live. But she will need time to rest – "

Dawn barely managed to finish relaying the good news as relief flooded the senior officers of XCOM, not to mention Volk himself. He let out an airy laugh of disbelief at first, before the information really started to digest. She'll live. She'll recover. A burst of energy filled him and the only way he could express it was sweeping the bedraggled paramedic in his arms and tightly embracing her, planting a scratchy kiss to her cheek much to her chagrin.

"Thank you." his gratitude spilled forth in repeated sentiments, finding immense solace in the mantra that repeated in his mind. _She'll live._ In that repose, he did not seem to notice Dawn's slight struggling protest as her feet did not touch the floor in the Reaper's elation. She threw a seeking look of help towards the burly orderly to wrench her free, but thankfully, Volk set her down before her hired help had to break his arms.

"Your actions of saving one of my own will always be remembered. I owe much to XCOM." He patted her shoulder, trying to walk around her to see his daughter, only to be stopped by her once more.

"She needs rest." Dawn reiterated strongly. " – I'll inform you when she is fit enough to have visitors."

Richard Tygan emerged from the operating room, dressed in similar scrubs as his fellow doctor. Although performing medical care was not his field of expertise, they were lacking in assistants and qualified nurses. An extra pair of hands in the operating room, be that just for handing tools or to wipe the sweat from her brow, were always useful. He dipped his head respectfully to Volk, before moving to address the senior officers.

"Commander. Central." he straightened, reaching into his coat to retrieve something bagged up. Kingsley leaned forward in her seat, eyes narrowing in inspection. It appeared to be a bullet – but not like anything they had ever seen. Far too large to be used by any conventional, man-made sniper rifle.

" – This was the bullet that Doctor Lovett and I retrieved from Miss Dragunova's abdomen. Upon closer inspection, it revealed to be coated in some sort of agent intending to promote the flow of blood. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain she must have been in."

"Is it safe to handle the bullet now?" Kingsley asked. Once Tygan nodded in affirmation, she gestured vaguely. " – Send it off to Shen. Perhaps we can start amplifying our own rounds with similar blood-letting bullets. Might have ADVENT think twice before setting their pet _dog_ on us. _Stupid_ boy. Practically giving us new tools to work with."

Bradford eyed her silently. Sure, the soldiers might jump at the chance to cause more suffering towards ADVENT than was necessary, but that didn't mean the idea or her darkened tone sat well with him. Kingsley always preached for a clean war, but evidently something about the Chosen Hunter's attack riled her. More questions he'll just have to be content on not having answers to.

"Secondarily, Commander, I would like to discuss a recent discovery of mine." The scientist's eyes trailed over his shoulder at the brooding, yet relieved Volk conversing with Dawn. " – Perhaps something best spoke of privately."

Kingsley frowned. It was impossible to discern what sort of information the good doctor was about to relay to them; as he kept a professional stoic mask on at all times. She could sense her friend's unease as well, but nevertheless, they rose and joined Tygan into the adjacent room which served as both his office and lab of sorts. In there, her gaze fell upon the large chip that floated ominously in a sceptic tank, knowing that it had, at one point, been stuck in her brain.

Bradford seized the moment he saw the chip, too. "Doctor, I gave no order to have you look at that chip."

"I apologize, Central." Tygan did not sound chastised in the slightest. "There is only so much development on the magnetic weapons I can do when collaborating with Doctor Shen and an idle, inquiring mind is a wasted one. I decided that analyzing the chip we had extracted from the Commander was not something that should remain left unchecked."

"That's no excuse – "

"What did you discover, Doctor?" Bradford huffed once he was silenced by his Commander stepping in and ultimately piped down to allow Tygan to explain.

Turning to the console behind him, Tygan typed on the terminal, bringing up the stored files for his presentation. An image of the chip in question was brought up, broken down by it's contingent parts, with a stream of data that seemed incomprehensible to follow. Kingsley noted that large chunks of it appeared redacted or flat out self-sabotaged to be unreadable.

"As you can see here, this is the device found in Commander Kingsley's head. And this -" he moves to a separate console, bringing up an identical looking chip. She expected the design to be the same, but.. the data was near identical. Tygan helped visually represent his point by super-imposing the data from the Commander's chip to the one they pulled out a trooper. " – Is the data being fed to the ADVENT soldier."

"It's.. identical?" Bradford murmured in the wake of Kingsley's silence. His brows furrowed as his mind slowly pieced together what Tygan had discovered. "It's.. identical! They were getting orders from..."

He trailed off.

Kingsley stared, long and hard at the data before her, lips drawn to a thin line of consternation. The information Tygan presented festered like bad blood inside of her, thoughts racing. She hadn't much recollection of the twenty years spent in the Alien's grasp – it was only those precious few moments of lucidity and consciousness when ripped out of the tank did she witness the void around her. The presence of the Elders that had rested so insidiously like a growth upon her overwhelmed much of what They were actually doing to her.

All this time, They were plucking choice information out from her and feeding it to their own soldiers, like she was some sort of.. _database_. A storage just for tactical data to pull out at a moments notice. The very same data that secured Them an iron fist of a military force – tactics used against rebels and potentially even former _friends_.

"What you see here, what I manage to pull out without further decryption is but a _fraction_ of what they were processing through you." Tygan finally breaks the silence once more, though only further adds a pensive melancholy to her reserved quiet. "Looking at the preliminary numbers; the volume of data would have overloaded any normal human's brain. For all accounts, Commander, you _should_ be dead."

"They were using me against my own people." she speaks up, tone mystifying. Tygan exchanged a look with Bradford, but nodded, nonetheless. Kingsley leans her weight against the table, shoulders shaking in an unspeakable rage that bordered beyond the realm of mere _upset_. A kind of fury that language failed to defined, expressed only in a serene quiet that could cut the air.

" – Please tell me that we can actually make use of this discovery." the Commander hollowly asked, almost bending towards a plead. She did not want to face the truth of why she'd grown so angry at learning more of the Elders' lies. There was only the future to claw towards. Only forwards.

"Unfortunately, this level of advanced decryption is difficult to do on a chip considered deceased or defunct by the ADVENT Network. But – if I am able to gain direct, unobstructed access to the Network, we can begin learning more on the Alien's plans – or, at least, gain significant understanding on the tech that they use."

"How are we to gain that?" inquired Bradford.

"By hacking a living Officer." Tygan told simply, as if it was the most obvious solution and not at all crazy. His no-nonsense attitude helped in conveying the seriousness in his statement. "Something, perhaps a device, that I will extend to Dr. Shen. If, we have your approval, Commander."

Naturally, she waited for her XO's thoughts, which came hastily after the good doctor finished his presentation. Bradford turned to Kingsley, mouth opening to fire his objections whilst still providing unbiased pros and cons, when he saw her still so visibly paralyzed with rage. She hid it well, but he knew her. It showed in her faintly purple tinted eyes, like twin waves ravaging at high tide.

Carefully, he touched the back of her elbow with his fingertips, startling her. She blinked furiously, before her diamond-like gaze met his softened concerned one.

"Whatever device Shen concocts is going to be dangerous in the field. ADVENT's always been tight with their security, so I have no doubt that their Network is heavily fortified." he tells. "We could very well end up attracting more attention than we have the firepower to deal with."

"I think you all lit the flare on that one when you yanked me free." she responds and they both share a brief, cynical smile. Kingsley's attention returned to Tygan. " – You have my approval, Doctor. Work in tandem with Shen. When can we reasonably start looking at alpha and prototypes?"

"One and two weeks respectively, Commander."

"Acceptable." She pushed away from the table and Bradford subtly supported her by the arm, knowing she'd already exerted herself this much and more so with her moment of untold anger. She exhaled an exasperated sigh, but did not decline his help.

"Quarters." she directs once they were out of the infirmary. " – I believe Geist has been wanting to check up on the state of our operation."

* * *

"Commander. I had only heard rumours of your cruelty, leaving me to wait before even a scrap of information to tide over the long radio silences. Do you make the Skirmisher leader wait as long as I? The Reaper? Hmm.. perhaps not on the latter – "

"Watch your tongue, Geist." the woman had learned so much this day and experienced much second-hand grief. She could do without a young – in comparison to her, Geist was likely in his forties – lurid psionic somehow forcing his influence over their primitive communication line. She still had time to twist her mouth into a hard, unfeeling smile, however. She had weathered back more powerful things in clout than him. A bit of purring was not going to have her spill critical intel.

" – I have company with me. Might want to tune down the siren song before you learn how cruel I _**can**_ be."

His laugh was not much better; well practiced, eerily forthcoming and with all the charm and zeal of a cult leader that knew what buttons to press – and when to pull back. This was the time for the latter as his half-blind eyes opened to regard her silently fuming companion. " – John Bradford, I presume. Is that a hint of protectiveness I see in your posturing? My strength is vast, but not transdimensional. Yet. There is no need to fear me on behalf of your... _friend_ ,"

"I've boxed people for less." Bradford gruffly responds, not unlike the tone he'd take with Volk for their casual banter. " – and I'm seeing six reasons already to floor your ass."

"I'm charmed." he responded, bemused.

Kingsley bit into the meat of the matter, however. She laced her fingers, resting her connected hands out of sight from the video feed onto her stomach as she levels Geist with a measured gaze of a woman who hadn't quite figured out his loyalties yet. He matched her beat for beat. "I dare say you're in an oddly good mood, Prophet. Elated, even."

He knew that was not just a playful observation for banter, but a veiled statement. His lips quirk upwards and the video feed shuddered within the instability of the connection. Always seeming to snap back when he needed to speak or emphasis on something important. But Geist, in all his power, could not manipulate something such as that. Or so Kingsley told herself.

"Oh yes. Interesting developments are happening." That statement was nebulous as he could get and a peek of teeth showed at her furrowed brow. " – but I suppose I could attribute my mood to the return of Luminița Feng."

From the blank looks of both senior officers, it confirmed what he already knew.

Kingsley knew for a damn fact that Webnar and Kelly had not nearly enough time to stake out patrol routes within the facility, let alone stage a rescue and return her to the Templars in one fell swoop. Radio silence was one thing, but it generally was broken to report a mission complete when the soldiers in question needed a ride home.

 _Defection? Killed in action?_ Her tired mind supplied answers in place of none and she dashed the unlikely probabilities.

"That is.. good news indeed." she neutrally said just to fill the space. Did she even mention that she had no idea on the state of the covert team? Geist must have known it wasn't anything their side, as his niceties were particularly sickly sweet. But she worried and for a mind so tired, distraught and exhausted with no outlet to offload her baggage, she could do without the possibility of two soldier's funerals.

Bradford, the more diplomatic of the two, steered the conversation to something more productive. "From your mood, she seems to be in good health then. Can't claim credit on this op, but, if you're ready to make a decision regarding where the Templar's stand.."

"You told him of our little meeting." Geist murmured. Whilst he didn't sound as if he was accusing her of anything, Kingsley bristled all the same.

"I had Volk do an extensive background check and I pulled up every file I had on Templars, yourself, and prominent Gifted humans." If her frank honesty struck him with awe, he'd never show it. Her tone very much fished for his point. He smile remained immovably placating. " – I don't blindly accept missions from shadowy men that know more about me than he lets on."

"Then I am pleased to say that we have not underestimated you, Commander." His head tilts slightly, gaze roaming off frame. He spoke softly, too softly for the microphone installed into the camera to pick up before he returned his attention back to the call, much more straight-laced than before.

"I feel as if I need more time before I decide to commit my Templars to your cause, Commander. But I do offer you the reward of my _gratitude_ for the effort and expenses on beginning the preliminary rescue."

Despite the finality in his voice, she still expected him to continue. He did not.

"Gratitude." she repeated. Her eye twitched and Bradford didn't need to be a psionic to feel the energy on board the ship stir. Morbidly, he was glad Geist was far, far away. The consequence would've been dire, otherwise.

"Perhaps my paladin may yet find herself in your ranks, though she will not be our representative, she has heard much about you and XCOM. She will know how to find you." He leaned forward towards the video feed, only pausing to offer one more of his trademark, snake-like smiles. " – Prophet out."

When the feed cut, they were both left in silence. Bradford had to hand it to Kingsley, what she was lacking in physical health she was more than making up for it with a mental fortitude to handle both humanity's children and the Elders without so much as a chink in the armour showing. He didn't know how long that'll last, but her head turned to face him and said one simple word.

"Argentina."

Bradford groaned, planting his face into the palms of his hands and it was like twenty years just slammed back to him. He hadn't wanted to be the one to make the comparison, but the parallels between Geist's actions and that of the council nation in the past could be drawn. Hopefully the resolution could be found with less alcohol poisoning.

* * *

"What do you know of the Blacksite?"

It was a fault of humanity that they thought the need to put on a show, or to dance around loops of the point and purpose for the sake of wasting time. Jax-Mon couldn't understand why Ishmael could not simply tell her what ADVENT wishes of her. But, she was.. tolerant, of him, for now. She humoured his question with with a thin scowl.

"Classified." It had taken her less than a fraction of a second to interface with the Network and try to access such files, which were what she said. It was her turn to snipe a question of her own. " – Why do I not have full clearance access, like my brothers?"

"Initially, the Elders only wanted you to focus on eradicating the Skirmishers. Only the necessary files were made available that would assist you in that." he explains patiently. "But given this recent task of our masters, perhaps it is time to update your level of clearance."

He waved any further issue off, refocusing to the point of why he kept her back. His hands rest neatly on his desk and never was once unnerved by the unblinking stare of the Chosen's youngest.

"When our Codices expire, or taken down for maintenance, there are brief moments of vulnerability within the Network interface. A margin deemed impossible for any human-made programme to slip through, but evidently they are beginning to grasp the rapidly evolving technology around them."

" – The Network was hacked." she summarized. A grim face had never befell Ishmael unless it was in public to cultivate a sense of grief for lost peacekeepers, so to see one now dropped her scowl. "And you wish for me to hunt them?"

"No. How the Network was breached is not what I need you to concern yourself with. I have my suspicions on how that came about, but in any case, the files they accessed were related to the Blacksite." Ah-hah. That is where his concern was founded, even if he masked most of it behind a face of neutrality.

"A strike against the site could set the our masters' plan back for months. A shred of propaganda from the Resistance about this could undo years of careful negotiations. I need you be prepared to defend the Blacksite at all costs."

Jax-Mon didn't know which felt better, the prospect of a battle, or the fact that the Speaker entrusted this task to her over her brothers.


	21. Self

Elena's eyes twitched behind her lids as the harsh infirmary light grazed off her face. An elongated groan escaped through her mouth as any sort of movement jostled the muscle in her abdomen. A hand rested on her shoulder to prevent her from raising further and for once she did not protest. Stretching what she could of her legs and arms without tugging anything was difficult. How long had it been since she was last lucid? A day? Two?

When she mustered the strength to open her eyes, another huff left her and she pointedly shut them again. "Of all the ugly mugs I had to first see, it was yours, Mox. Want to personally escort me to Hell yourself?"

"Another time, Dragunova. You've still got much fighting to do before our final battle." By the Gods above, he seemed to actually convey a hint of amusement in his stiff layered voice. " – But I am not the first to have seen you. Do you not remember your patriarch's visit?"

"The last thing I remember was the Hunter chastising me for being out in the open and then a brief moment of Lovett's hands wound-deep in my abdomen." she resigned to shoot him a groggy look. Her tiredness thickened her accent, but Mox did not seem to mind. Was smiling very softly, even. The kind of smile she isn't so sure he realized he was making. "Describe it to me."

"All that I heard was that he had to be dragged out once Lieutenant Lovett cleared you for visitors." he hummed and with the strange vocalizations the human-alien hybrid had, it sounded more akin to a low rumble in the pit of his throat. " – He broke the orderly's nose in protest, held a brief brawl with Central that ended with them both sporting black eyes until the Commander rendered them both in Stasis and chastised them so harshly, even the false Gods would be humbled."

Elena stared at him blankly. Then let loose a guffaw so loud and true that she ended it wheezing and wincing in pain and cradling her lower belly. Worth every twinge of pain.

"Crazy bastard!" she approved with a more contained chuckle, even if the edges of her eyes belayed her agony. She smacked Mox's arm for making her laugh and he accepted that as suitable punishment for causing her undue suffering. "Please say someone recorded that. What an _absolute_ lunatic."

"I am sure it was caught on the ship's surveillance." he supplied the logical answer, though found himself tilting his head in curiosity nonetheless. He was not built for small talk, yet saying nothing more to simply watch her might be unnerving. So, Mox cleared his throat and gave a venturing ask;

" – He means a lot to you, but you seem to continuously insult him..?"

Elena settled to shake her head as waving her hands about in gesticulation was not an option. "I say what he is, Mox, but learn my tone. In times of rebellion and war, we could all be a little more upfront and honest. I might call him many things, but until I outright say he's an enemy, then he will always be my patriarch."

She nods to him. "You, for example, are still a moron with a death wish that I'm indebted to. Go and get yourself nearly killed so I can pay off my dues."

Now it was his turn to bark a short laugh and lean a little forward, arms resting on his knee in a rather casual recline he'd seen the soldiers take. "A moron. That's new. Not a _kracsad_ any more?"

"You're rising up in the tier." she flashed her teeth, partly playful, partly in a dogged grin. He had zero idea what the expression meant, but Mox was becoming acquainted with the concept of sarcasm swiftly within the company of XCOM and the Reapers. "You'll become a fool next. Then maybe a clown."

"I pray that all of my kind may ascend these ranks, too." he droned, which worked well with his near-toneless voice, but his just managed to be the right amount of human to make her snort a laugh and then hit him with a warning glare for making her jiggle her muscles.

"Let's not get too hasty." Again, she gave him that strange grin. He rather liked it. " – You best be off. If Volk caught you in here, it will take more than a old man's punch and a senile Commander putting him in stasis to stop him."

"Recover swiftly, Dragunova." he bid his farewell, as much as he'd liked to remain and catch the patriarch in the ring for a round of fist fighting.

* * *

"I can't believe you used _psionics_ on me, Dottie."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she added a little more pressure to his blackened, bloodshot eye with the icepack. Bradford winced, shirking back out of instinct, before forcing himself to relax and let Kingsley do her work. Her eyes still glowed with a soft not-quite-purple, but shaded teal from the latent psi-energy that lingered on her and veins of the same colour that rose under her flesh had otherwise returned to normal.

"What did you want me to do, John? Make a bet who would have won? Chant you guys on as the only other available muscle is Squaddie Vaun who might, mind you, faint if Volk so much as looms in his presence?"

"Cut the kid a break. If I was thirty years younger I'd faint if someone twice my size and muscle mass with a penchant for brawling and eating aliens loomed over me, too."

"No, no you would not." Kingsley stated with so much certainty and fact in her voice that the infallible John Bradford broke into a lopsided smile. She jabbed him not too softly in the shoulder with her free hand to emphasize her words. " – You'd take it as a challenge in some masculinity ritual to woo your boot camp sweetheart of the week, I'm sure, and then leave _me_ with paying **your** bloody dental charges after you got floored."

At least he had the decency to sniff indignantly. "Masculinity ritual. Really, Dottie. And the bill was _one time!_ "

"The fact that there was an _**any time**_ speaks for itself, John."

"My questionable choices as a young man in the far past aside," he neatly segued, or as neat as a train wreck could get; " – Are you feeling well? You haven't used psionics in.. well. A long time, I imagine."

Her silence set the mood pensively, attention focused on dabbing the pack against the bruised swelling of his eye. John internally cursed himself, wishing he could've stopped being a worry wart and just have some harmless banter with her. But it was foolishly hopeful to think they could have anything less than a cynical conversation these days – and he knew she was not always forthcoming about her ailments.

"I felt fine using them in the moment.." she started with, as if that'd lessen the blow. It didn't. " … but now that the energy faded, I feel twice as drained as I usually do. I wouldn't say it physically _hurt_ to use them – but it.. the sensation of having my skin being eaten by something is not one I'll forget easily."

"Maybe you should check up with the good doctor. It could be something serious."

Kingsley, as expected, shook her head. " – I can't keep bothering Doctor Tygan with every little ache and pain along the way, John. His time is pressed thin as it is and unless you want to add another week to this ' _Skulljack'_ project of his and Shen's..."

"It's not about what I want." He answered lightly, ignoring the feeling of his throat tightening as he forced the words out. "I'm only your advisor and tactical liaison. Sometimes a friend that knows when to kick your ass, but, at the end of the day, it's your choice."

"I know." she offered him a pained smile. Around John, she held no pretense of holding herself up strongly. Every wrinkle, every bit of exhaustion she truly felt came out in full force. Frail was not a word John would be caught dead describing his friend as, but since rescuing her, it floated up in his mind time and time again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the communications terminal beeping. They both would have ignored it if his passing glance didn't spot the ADVENT logo. He bolted from the couch, not bothering to slip into the desk seat so he could try and isolate the hacking attempt before they gained any sort of remote access.

Kingsley rose a little more slowly, hovering behind him as his fingers furiously typed. Bradford wasn't a computer expert in the slightest, but they all were well-versed in Shen's pre-programmed anti-virus tools. Just as he was about to terminate the establishing connection, his eyes flashed in recognition at the decryption key.

"John?" the Commander asked, a little confused and very much out of the loop.

"I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath. He ignored Kingsley's cough of alarm when he settled back and allowed the connection through unhindered. Instead of any ADVENT face, be that the Speaker or otherwise, it was unmistakably a human cast in dark shadow and a voice that they both knew by heart.

"Hello, Commander. Central." the shadowed man addressed, clasping his hands in front of him. The lighting was so harsh to obscure his face for good reason, but it was nice to see some semblance of a stable line for once. She broke out in a grin, but friendly or not was left to be determined. " – I apologize for being unable to get into contact sooner. Security has.. tightened, since the terrorist attack on Unification Day and our loyalty to the Administration is tested everyday. It is good to see you."

"I imagine you've not got the time for pleasantries and catch up, Spokesman." Kingsley noted.

"Unfortunately not, Commander." he agreed. One of his hands vanished into the darkness and beside him popped up information boxes full of data that were no doubt being transferred to her terminal. Bradford studied them, determining them to be ADVENT's police reports. Or some kind of report.

"What you are seeing are classified reports of missing civilians from across the world." the Spokesman confirmed part of Bradford's suspicions. " – Their numbers are _growing_."

"ADVENT take prisoners all the time for those detention facilities as a show of force and faith," Bradford said, though his brow dipped. "But something tells me this isn't routine..?"

"We have reasonable cause to suspect they are being taken from across the world to a nearby _Black-site_. We, however, do not know it's exact location." The files were replaced by predicted co-ordinates and a map, something that both senior officers were quick to memorize in case they did not have access to the files. The satellite imaging, however, was blurry and distorted. Tampered and protected in some manner.

"Reasonable cause is also reasonable doubt." coolly Kingsley intoned. She didn't know what a _Black-site_ was, but from the grim expression of her XO and the Spokesman's ever-grave tone, she almost didn't want to find out. "- I don't like going blind, Councillor. You know that."

"If we are to have a chance to dismantle the ADVENT Administration and defeat their alien masters, then you must destroy this _Black-site_." That, he sounded much more sure about. "You are the only one whom we trust to get the job done, Commander. Good luck."

His abruptness of leaving was no surprise, being on ADVENT's clock, he couldn't exactly be seen to communicate with the leaders of the rebellion. But it still left both officers staring at a blank screen in silence once again.

"I'll – contact Betos." Bradford finally murmured. " – Perhaps she or any of her kind might have more than a vague idea about where this _Black-site_ is."

* * *

If Hecate had her suspicions before, then freeing Luminița Feng from her prison cell was the final nail of the coffin.

 _Traitor_. Her mind sung again and again as she wrung her hands. Her anxiety, something that was only reserved in high-octane combat situations to heighten reflex and response, bled into commonplace activities. Not like a Priest. Not supposed to feel _anything_ but demure, docile praise and love of the Elders and Their children. She was a traitor. No better than the godless heretics that abandon their beliefs for that of the Old World.

She'd almost thrown her helmet off in disgust of herself. How _dare_ she think herself worthy of the priestly mantle after committing such a highly treasonous act! Right under the Warlock's nose, the shepherd of Their word. She didn't know what possessed her to free her.

No, that was a lie. Hecate knew _**exactly**_ why she had because she was no longer bound by the thoughts of millions racing in her head in the form of data. She should have checked herself in Reconditioning despite the Warlock's refusal after he'd blinded her. Should have known something was going wrong with the increase of autonomy. Didn't stop it. Embraced growth, change, like the Assassin had.

What a fool. A traitorous fool – Priests were not built for autonomy. The Chosen were made of more complex things than a base trooper template stuffed full of psi-energy.

The Elders were so silent to her. The lull of her sisters were all but gone. She had only her psionics and, unrestricted by the Network's harsh regime, felt every ebb and flow of her own power with perfect clarity. She could've gotten drunk off it, if her nerves were not frayed to the edge.

Humans had a word for it. She had no pre-installed database to recall it in the picosecond it takes the Network to receive and send information, but she had her memory, which was unreliable at best and downright amnesiac at worst. Ah, yes.

She was becoming _hysterical_.

She'd wandered from the prison facility because in her haze of foggy memory and muted void where the Network's constant buzz was, she wasn't totally inept. Remaining there would be her execution once Gabriel and Uriel discover the empty prison cell. Hecate had to get out of there before the Warlock finally decided to deign his presence to the Templar after the Twins' hard work to collect his information, too.

Hecate felt naked. Still clad in her white armour that had been drenched in the human's blood by the shins – and she wore the helmet out of comfort like a security blanket – but she heard NOTHING. Even in the Chosen's deaths, there was still the hum of activity, subconsciously or not. Now, it was entirely her own thoughts and they were happily chanting her status. Wandering the unfeeling forest like a small mouse trapped in a large maze.

_What was she to do?_

Such a question before would have brought up the Network's response of her assigned doctrines, sub-doctrines, personal messages and list of optional activities to work in-tandem of current objectives. Now, it pointlessly floated in the void of her thought space like shouting in the wind. _What was she to do?_ No response except the echo of her own mind-voice.

Her own. Her. _**Own**_.

All the mild emotions that were repressed crashed her at once and she found it difficult to order her legs to continue. Couldn't offload the emotional meltdown to her sisters, or share the burden with her bondmate. She lowered herself to the base of a tree, drawing her knees up close to her chest. Difficult and highly uncomfortable in full plate, but the protest of her flesh was the least of her worries.

She owned herself. She _**is**_ herself. Not a Priest, not a class, or a number, but everything that the identity of Hecate meant was now her _entirety_. She rocked a little, shaking. Tears fell sharply though the Not-Priest didn't register that her body was finding it's own way of relieving her emotional stress even if her mind wasn't all that with it.

Her helmet felt so much more cumbersome and clammy and entirely ill-designed. An almighty headache, not unlike the time she'd been swamped with the bishopric bloomed on all sides and trembling, shaking hands lifted up and planted on either side of the helmet. She lifted it up very slightly. Then removed it and settled it down beside her.

Hecate still couldn't see anything and it didn't make a difference visually. But her head breathed, she felt the breeze across her temples, her brow, the top of her head – her ears, for the first time.

There was one thing she felt so strongly about. Her loyalty to Jax-Mon. She smiled. The Chosen knew everything. She would know what to do.

Then her face fell. Jax-Mon was the Elders' blade in the dark. Their Assassin, born and bred to hunt vermin like her that dared defiled the Gods. She only needed a cursory check to see that Hecate's name was no longer on the Network. Nobody she knew was safe – even her bondmate Fiducia would shoot on sight if his doctrine told him too.

Her chest tightened suffocatingly at that. Trying to comprehend that someone she trusted with her life, whom would remain loyal to eternally, would not think twice about slaughtering her at a mere word discordantly resonated with her fractured mind. She curled herself tighter. Lost, alone, without purpose or the comfort of her masters' holy word, she had nothing and therefore was nothing.

 _I have my name._ She thought. It bounced soundlessly in her own space of quiet mind. _I cannot be_ **nothing** _, because I am Hecate. These are the thoughts I own. I own this body. This speech. I am not nothing._

_I am alone._

_No,_ she thinks again. Her legs slowly unfold, resting prone as her hands grope around her. Although gloved, she could still feel the weight of the gnarled tree roots she sat upon and the caressed through the blades of grass. Her psionics spread out like feelers, sensing every living pulse of the wildlife. _There are trees. The Earth. I cannot be alone because there is life._

Now that she had established a loose, tangible grasp of reality over the existential crisis, she did not feel as if her body might overclock and force herself to pass out. That's a start, but she remained still, because one thought went unanswered.

_I have no purpose._

Hecate stared despondently to the sea of black and purple blobs that made up her visual reception. Proving to herself that she was alive was different to convincing herself that it held a point. As she had no way of responding, she merely met the question with;

_I have no purpose. **Yet**._

"'Ey, beautiful!"

The Network might have been silent to her, but her body was honed to instinct. Alone, confused, separated from escort and bondmate, in hostile territory? Her psionics blindly reached to page for reinforcements, but naturally, no answer was returned. She scrambled up to her feet, forgetting her helmet and hastily drew her magnetic rifle. Her psi-energy flared up like an animal might posture, making her seem far more intimidating and imposing than she actually was.

"Whoa, whoa, Preacher's packing heat! Isn't that like, sacrilegious, or something? _Thou shalt not murder_ and _do no harm_?" the voice belonged to a psionic light that was far, far too young to be an adult and too primal to be ADVENT. A human whelp. At least her psionic preening did it's job, he seemed a little more hesitant to continue approaching her and she got a vague outline of a gangly, humanoid figure that was missing an arm.

"Please, go away." Hecate responded, her first words that were not monitored by ADVENT, or influenced by them in any way. Her throat felt hoarse and dry. As unknown charter as this was to her and entirely unwanted now that it happened, she did not want her first act of freedom to be blood on her hands.

"I'm just curious. Not seen a pugface in white before. You're city folk and I'm just a country boy. Thought you weren't allowed to take off your helmet." the teen offered. He held up his hands to show his lack of armament, but since every nerve in her body screamed threat and danger, she couldn't discern his show of peace.

Hecate wet her lips uncertainly, the mouth of the automatic nudging downward. A witness. He would speak and then everyone knew. That was how humans worked. She took Jax-Mon's advice and lied.

"That's because I'm not a a-assigned to the... I mean to say.. I am not from the city any longer. I am.. A.. S-Skirmisher." Maybe that would get the boy to back off. The lie left a tart taste on her tongue as it was.

Quite the opposite, he inched closer, a grin in his tone. "I figured as much, I mean, what ADVENT would let me run my mouth as long as I have? Now, Skirmishers, they don't like doing business with us folk, but I think you might make a great incentive to have us start opening.. ahh.. what is the word … Negotiations. Which is to say that all prices are final and they better fork up payment for a pug."

She'd reacted to the threat in his aloof tone than his words. Truthfully she had no idea what he was saying, implying or even what his body language indicated. Her rifle was traded for her psionic amplifier and she recreated a move she'd witnessed when poking around the Templar's memory during the sessions of recovery.

Whilst she didn't draw up the psi-blades, the arc wave was recreational and shot forth, reaving the ground and all in it's path to the boy in question. He clearly hadn't anticipated such power – maybe a stasis field, or a ghost, but not a mishmash of techniques to create her own. She heard twigs snap, the ground quake and the teen's cry as he was flung back.

She winced as he hit the tree with a sickening snap. A quick analysis of his vitals shown that he'll survive, even if she were to abandon him. Which she promptly did, because Hecate did not want to remain in the woods any longer to find out about ' _negotiations_.'

She needed to find Jax-Mon, consequence be damned.


	22. Renewal

_**RECEIVING** _ _, ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN."_

_**FILE 000421 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM CODEX_SERVER01 SUBJECT BLACK-SITE.** _

**WARNING:** _PERMISSION LEVEL "THETA" REQUIRED._

_**CLEARANCE CODE** "THETA_ASSASSIN" PENDING._

_**CLEARANCE CODE** "THETA_ASSASSIN" ACCEPTED._

_**ACCESSING FILE … …** _

__**FILE 000421 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM CODEX_SERVER01 SUBJECT BLACK-SITE.** _ _

[UNKNOWN DATE]: "The Black-Site was one of the first facilities that the Elders instructed us to build and one of the few that They held personal involvement in overseeing it's process, mainly because of it's purpose. It serves as both a storage unit and a refinery on Earth to contain the vast amounts of genetic material that this planet offers in abundance.

It is from these … genetic warehouses … that we further streamline the quality of material we have access to. The Elders believe in Their frugality – as much as one might question the more, unique experiments – but They would be remiss if They were to engineer a sub par life form when They have access to such bounty."

[UNKNOWN DATE]: "There are a total of five Black-Sites currently operational on Earth. Refinery is a slow process, as it had taken the first successful batch a million clinic-approved humans and fifteen years before results were starting to show. Fifteen years for one vial, one million humans.

We are not deterred by the amount of genetic material it takes, but rather the time spent. Time is not a luxury we have, no matter how patient They are. Optimistically, the process time has been cut now that They have a further understanding of humanity's markup. I believe they are looking to incorporate some of the Black-Site's stock into a [new project] alongside the [Avatar.]"

 **_RECEIVING_ ** _, ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN."_

_**FILE 000421 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM CODEX_SERVER01 SUBJECT BLACK-SITE TOPIC PROJECT "LISA."** _

_**_ACCESSING FILE … …_ ** _

_**_FILE 000421-A PROJECT "LISA."_ ** _

__[2020.03.11]__ "Ambitious barely scratches the surface of what the Elders wish to create, but if there is anyone capable of such magnificence, it is our great and sanctimonious masters. They wished for a daughter and in Their hands They forged her from the blood of Saints, the steel of Gods and created woman. Only the finest selection of human genetics went towards shaping her DNA and much like the Avatar, so did a piece of Them, too.

She is a prototype. A curious what if to Their engineering. But more over, a testing playground to ensure whatever errors occur in her design and field tests will not be repeated for Their own project. If she is a success, she will be ascended to the ranks worthy of Them. A failure – and cast aside to compete with the other failed projects known as the Chosen to fight for her place among her Elders.

Perhaps.. failure is too harsh to label them, for They would never create something so incompetent. They serve their purposes to a point, but they are mere shadows of what they could be. She will be made as a constant reminder as to what they could have achieved had they not succumbed to their growing humanity and let their masters down.

As for our internal name for the project, we have taken it from the Commander. It was the name of her eldest daughter. Hopefully they will not recognize it and deter the prying eyes of this project's eventual siblings.

Furthermore, the Commander's …

_****RECEIVING** ** _, ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN."_ _

_**_FILE 000421 DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM CODEX_SERVER01 SUBJECT BLACK-SITE TOPIC PROJECT "AVATAR."_ ** _

_**_ACCESS DENIED._ ** _

* * *

After the Codex rejected Jax-Mon's inquiry, she was sent reeling back to reality; eyes blinking slowly as she adjusted to the sudden shift in consciousness. A stillness encompassed her being, dwelling on the information that she'd pulled from the Network and to mull over in her own space of mind. A pending uncertainty, like a nebulous void – aimless.

She understood why the Speaker and her masters may have been initially hesitant to allow her full access. Somehow, she did not think they intended her to see the files of her own existence.

The Assassin cursed herself initially. Always the first reaction to a perceived failure: the project on herself was not her task to research, but the Black-Site, no matter how related the two may have been. She paid the consequence of her curiosity by learning things that she could never forget.

.. A what if. Is that all she meant to her masters? Their child, Their loving, adoring, faultless baby girl, was nothing more than a product of fantasy of if they **could** do it. She and her siblings were made to believe that the status of Chosen was a grandiose, significant thing. Nothing in the galaxy – the universe – could reach the heights they could attain. They were the peak of humanity and alien genetic cohesion.

In structure.

But they hadn't really remained in such a way, had they? The Warlock, their eldest and most prideful, fell victim to the delusions of religious zeal. He took the mantle of godhood too literal, too.. humanely. To be a deity was to be without such shackling restraints, but he'd never cast them aside. Genetically sound, but the same could not be said for his personality.

The Hunter willingly basked in his newfound humanity once his arduous task took a toll on him. He encouraged the differences, the growth that They had not intended out of spite. His mind was freed from scripture and instead of using it to foster his tactical ingenuity, he used it to rebel against his makers. He was the sum total of a million human's hatred, concentrated and refined into an animus, debauched cretin.

Then there was herself. Her self-reflection had came at a time when her own genetics crept up on her – dormant, waiting for the right trigger to be released and like a raging dam it flooded her systems – and her first death had been jarring, but repressed in favour of retaliation. She should have taken the time then to assess herself.

Surprisingly, Jax-Mon did not re-evaluate her being with disparaging, scathing criticism. Yes, she may have acted out of turn or have her control slip, but her incorruptible focus never allowed her to truly lose sight of her goal. With a larger one at hand as the Commander's capture, it gave her a wider berth to review and analyze.

She promised to forge a blank slate with her brothers once the Chosen settled their territorial disputes. If she gave them the courtesy of such a thing, then it stands to reason, as one of the Chosen, that she should be given one, too. The Assassin let go of her past failures, her mistakes, her anger. She recognized that what she did there that day was unrecorded. Uncharted – unknown between their ascended kind.

A leader, or a **commander** , did not let one single instance deter them from the greater path at hand. Even when faced with mathematical odds, statistic data, it should not deter her.

Tranquillity washed over the Assassin as she exhaled softly. It was a long time since she felt so sure of herself. No longer second-guessing, wrapped up in disgusting pity for her actions or nagging, unanswerable looping questions. Merely her focus, her void and her objective. She rose, serene, away from the foot of her sarcophagus. Now she may begin her duty.

As she arrived to the control room of her stronghold, it seemed as though her defense captain did not share the sentiment. She was silent, gaze sweeping over the hunched form of Fiducia. If she was unable to sense his psionic link to the Network, she would've thought him dead.

"Captain." she coolly intoned, mildly surprised that he snapped up, almost fell off the chair and scrambled to sweep into a salute of respect. Jax-Mon stared at him nonplussed. He has never been so.. disorganized or disgruntled before. He lingered on the gesture a little longer than he normally did before his arm dropped to the side.

"Chosen." his voice cracked when he addressed her.

 _Cracked_.

"Explain yourself." the Assassin requested, not unkindly. She was hardly _worried_ – such a thing was impossible for her to feel. No matter her mutual bond towards the ADVENT troops, empathy forever eluded her – but if there was something that prevented him from doing his duty to peak, optimal performance, then she wanted to know.

To Fiducia's credit, he was doing a very good job of holding himself together, even if it was by a thread. "Y-You are not aware, my Chosen?" His lips twist into a bitter shell of a smile. A reflexive response to distress, she found. "H-Hecate is … gone. The … the Network registers her as _traitor_!"

"Hecate? A traitor?" she echoes. The blind Priest may have been many things, especially in the eyes of her vain elder brother, but her loyalty was **absolute**. Many times she had accepted death as a necessary punishment for events out of her control. Jax-Mon tries to ignore the creeping thought that perhaps her encouragement of the Priest's suppressed talent to command may have been a catalyst. " – No, there must be an error."

"Two-hundred and fifty-thousand Codices are currently managing the Network, my Chosen." caustically the captain responds. Not quite biting, but harsh enough that she took note in his shift of tone. " – The possibility of **_error_** is smaller than what is calculable."

"You are struggling to believe her betrayal yourself, Fiducia. Do not dismiss the possibility." she points out. He was unable to point out discrepancies within the Network other than in reciting fact – but here, he struggled to accept that the Priest had merely just abandoned them. His bond with her was still as strong as ever and he did not doubt his bondmate. No, he was suggesting something.

"If I may speak freely," he waits until she gives an approving nod. " – The Chosen Warlock must have used this time to rectify his mistake, especially now that the territorial protocol is in place, you would not have our support to challenge him over a single Priest."

She sighed. There was no proof that her brother was the cause of this apparent Network error – if it was indeed, an error to begin with. Jax-Mon would simply have to take the facts as she knew them.

"I will give your bondmate the benefit of believing that this may have fallen into that small, incomprehensible possibility of error." she announces, much to his surprise and hope. " – But, I also cannot go accusing my brother of foul play over such small matters and I need you to be able to focus and do your duty, Fiducia. Do you trust me?"

"O-Of course, my Chosen." he murmurs. "I never had any other thought. I.. simply – "

"I did not lie when I said I was not like my brothers, Captain." That was enough to get him to nod slowly and his body to relax a pinch. She wondered, briefly, how badly they were mistreated by her elder siblings to have warranted an instinctual pattern of forced compliance despite the truth. Jax-Mon gestured to him. "I will seek out an answer to this, but primarily, my objective lies within protecting the Black-Site. Can I count on you?"

Fiducia straightened and snapped into a far more natural salute for him. Her lips curved into a small, proud smile. " – Yes, Wraithmaiden. I will be able to provide the necessary strategical information you require."

"Good." she nodded to herself, satisfied. " – I shall go prepare."

* * *

Jane Kelly didn't like Templars.

Being tasked to rescue one of them only for the said prisoner to be the one to find her and Klaus stumbling their way through covert operations rubbed her the wrong way. The fact that she'd heard rumours of a Priest's capability to interrogate – not even mentioning their pontiff – and that Luminița seemed healthy, fit and devoid of injury was the second red flag.

The third red flag to solidify her distrust was, well, the purple glow of psionics that spiraled and snaked the woman's exposed, bulging muscles. She didn't even like the open secret that the Commander had this elusive ' _Gift_ ' as well – and her tolerance certainly did not extend to liaisons that did not actually represent the faction she was from.

Kelly didn't know what sort of sick, twisted game Geist and his ilk were playing at. They were all fighting for the same thing – the freedom of planet Earth – so why did he not commit? What did he know that he refused to allow others to know, to share the burden? It was great enough that he apparently had no resources spare to deal with the very real current threat of ADVENT. It was all too sketchy for her liking.

The soldier gazed at the woman from the corner of her eye as she warily checked over her sword. She expected the Templar was suddenly going to snap and bring their Skyranger down in some catatonic, psionic explosion. Klaus, her covert partner, didn't seem to mind the addition. No, _his_ inspection was suitably less sizing and much, much more absorbing the pleasing sight of a admittedly beautiful woman.

Her foot conveniently slipped in time for the Skyranger's turn so it shot out and delivered a harsh kick to the man's shin. He cursed sharply in German in pained response, finally tearing his appreciative gaze away from Luminița to nurse his poor shin. He glared at Kelly and she bared her teeth in response.

"Jane Kelly." The woman's voice oozed a confidence like no other. Reckless bravado was one thing, but it sounded like she harnessed the meaning of _fearlessness_. Kelly gritted her teeth and turned her head to the knight, trying not to tense up further as her purple eyes were trained on her with hawk-like intent. " – I cannot help but notice that you seem to be.. uneasy, in my presence."

"No shit?" the Ranger exclaimed, always one to mix her sarcasm with scalding truth. She settled her sword down, throwing one arm over her knee and leaned as much forward as she could strapped into the Skyranger's safety harness. "I'm trying to think what's the difference between you and those Priests other than the muscle mass of a Muton and a mop of white hair."

Luminița smiled, unfeelingly harsh.

"The Elders' minions perverse this land with their intent, ripping the Earth of it's power and beauty. I serve as but a humble champion in hope of restoring our planet to it's natural state. The fact that you cannot see this worries me greatly. Perhaps I may be able to assist you..?"

"The only thing you're going to assist me with is a workout when I haul your ass back to your crazy cult leader." she brusquely challenged. " – I don't trust you. How many days was it spent in the Chosen's facility and you don't have a scratch on you. For all we know, you could be a sleeper agent planted by ADVENT."

"My, you must not have much faith in your allies, then. As I understand it, the Skirmishers come from all walks of ADVENT life, not all of them bound to the city." the Templar crosses her arms tightly. To Kelly's annoyance, it seemed only to emphasize her built physique for the wandering eye. " – Do you hold them at arms length, too? Suspect them as being agents of the Devil in disguise?"

"They've had chance to prove themselves." her chin juts out a little, though her voice lost a little traction. Truth was, Kelly didn't entirely trust the Skirmishers either. Mox, maybe a bit more. But she was hardly going to meet up with their kind without anything less than her full combat gear and backup in the bushes. " .. and none of them are psionics."

"Sweetheart, give it a rest," Webnar finally piped up, subconsciously drawing his legs back and out of kicking range once Kelly's heated glare lanced back to him. He raised his hands in what he hoped was placating. "No offense to Paladin Feng, I don't particularly like the practices of a Templar either. But they at least fight for Earth and humanity – and how can you distrust psionics when the Commander is – "

" – Shut it, Webnar!" Kelly swore. As poorly kept secret as it was, one did not openly go around discussing the Commander's Gift. She jabbed a finger at Luminița's vaguely bemused face. "You watch yourself. The slightest mistake. The smallest hint and I'll be on you quicker than you can cry to Geist."

"Duly noted." the Templar intoned. " – And you will show the Prophet his due respect, Jane Kelly. Our work is clearly beyond your understanding if it warrants such mistrust. I pray that your companion here is the rule of what to expect in XCOM, rather than the exception of your narrow-minded comprehension."

"I'll show you narrow-minded – !"

" _Settle down back there!_ " barked Firebrand over the intercom. " _Bunch of_ **bloody** _children. Don't make me turn this Skyranger around and dump you lot straight in the heart of a city centre!_ "

Begrudgingly, Kelly fell silent, though if looks could talk, a sailor would've blushed at the black promises she glared into the smug Templar's skull.

Once the Skyranger safely touched down in the Avenger's depot and the agents disembarked the aircraft, they were greeted by Central. He gave the two Rangers a look over, sent them ahead to get checked up and rested within the barracks, but stopped in front of the knight clad in yellow. A colour scheme he was quickly finding himself not particularly fond of.

"You must be Paladin Feng." he addressed. "Seeing as Geist hasn't officially signed you off as his liaison, you'll be expected to follow our chain of command and our rules -- "

"Yes, speaking of," the Templar cut in the moment Bradford paused to draw breath; " – I wish to converse with the Commander."

"The Commander is … resting, currently." he informed lightly. That was a nice way of putting _'collapsed and snoring like a wildebeest.'_ – as it turned out, utilizing her psi-energy had drained her more than she let on. A voracious appetite followed by a straight crash of sleep. "Unless it is urgent, then she is not to be disturbed."

"Would you classify the location of the Black-Site as urgent, Central Officer Bradford?" she questioned with a smile. He couldn't shake the feeling it was a shadow of Geist's – full of falsehoods and broken promises, yet so forcefully trustworthy he had no other choice but to accept her word.

It did not take long for him to come to an answer, in any case. " … Follow me. I'll take you to see her immediately."


	23. Council

Luminița may have a face like cut diamond, but she found it hard to suppress back the curl of a lip as she regarded Commander Kingsley with a veneer of cool contempt.

_This_ was the woman that Geist was so impressed over. Her presence carried an air of absolute authority, commanding due respect, yet the Paladin looked past such things and sought her true power. It was not pure, like the Earth, but disgustingly potent and eldritch. Too closely like an alien than natural for her liking.

Beyond that, from the commendations and old-world medals that littered the Commander's desk in memorabilia, the pressed uniform that was neatly buttoned up on a mannequin, topped with what looked like the colours of a Royal Marine – or UKSF, Luminița saw a frail old woman, living in the shadow of her twilight years. She was a dead woman walking and no doubt felt like one too.

The Paladin could tell that she was being appraised by the Commander and crossed her arms, letting her strength do the talking for her. A psionic like her would be able to feel the weight of her energy just at a glance and bit back a scoff when she made a vaguely impressed face that was so obviously faked.

Her gaze slid over to Central, whom still lingered in the room. " - I wish to speak to her privately."

He took umbrage immediately, jaw shifting as he fought off his habit to clench it and instead straighten his height. He was by no means a small man – easily hitting the six foot range – but even he struggled to meet Luminița eye to eye.

"Absolutely not." he muttered, chagrined, before he offered up a much more sensible reasoning afterwards. "I don't mean to insult you when I say we aren't exactly forthcoming with Templars, especially seeing as you lot aren't so fond of us either."

"Oh," she demurred. " - We are very fond of you and XCOM, Central Officer. It is merely the _company_ you keep that we have odds with."

They both fell silent once Kingsley released a sigh. Her hands had been steeped against the surface of her desk, but now they moved. Luminița watched how a slight tremor seemed to course through her muscles like tiny currents of electricity. Ever so slight, but nothing escaped her observation. Her sneer remained as her assessment of the Commander being nothing more than a weak, old creature was correct.

"Leave us, Central." Ah, now _that_ defied her ailment. Her voice was robust, larger than her infirmity would suggest and full of clout. Distinct.

Bradford clenched his jaw this time and bit his tongue, dipping his head respectfully to his Commander and shooting a sidelong glare at the Templar before drawing away and leaving the two women alone.

Kingsley reclined in her chair, hands disappearing into the shadows of her desk – the rustling of paper documents and miscellaneous kitsch accompanying her movement – before they return to the surface, cigarette and electric lighter in hand. She lit it, took a long, much needed drag and exhaled the smoke in wispy strands that danced at the ceiling.

"You smoke?" she offered, leaning the pack towards the Templar. Purple eyes flicked to them, before back up to the Commander, hitting her with the full force of her disapproving, disappointed glower.

"I would not poison my body. You, whose health is escaping you by the minute, should not either." she chastised to the older's non-committal hum.

"They were a gift from Volk." Kingsley tosses the pack on the desk, letting the cigarette hang loosely pinched between her lips as her voice muffles around it. " - For saving his kid. Seemed a bit rude to refuse them when they're such a luxury now-a-days."

Luminița knew where the direction of the conversation was going and cut in to add her roadblock to it; "I am sure you have a grand point that relates to the actions of my Prophet. You and by extension, XCOM, feel snubbed by his manner of non-partisan. But I no longer represent him, so I suggest leaving behind any problem you have with us."

The glacial smile that curled on her lips gave the Paladin pause. Frigid, like a flash-freeze had stolen all warmth in the room, yet her voice never raised, her eyes never glared. It was perhaps harsher than any indignant or spluttering anger could have achieved.

"The _problem_ with your Prophet and your organization is the belief that you know everything in the world – and then some. You believe that we common mortals are not able to understand when you have never taken the time to actually inform us so that we may gauge for ourselves. If I did not think that your order's refusal to let us in was **childish** , I'd think it _sabotage_!"

Kingsley sharply inhaled and expelled the smoke in her lungs slowly. It curled around her as her psionics crackled with the latent psi-energy in the air. Luminița perceived this strongly as a threat and was surprised to find her own power mellow back from it. How interesting; but she trusted her instinct and did not meet the challenge.

"I do not want a soldier under my command that thinks herself a God. _We_ have no need for a soldier who will jeopardize missions because she thinks she knows better. I _**suggest**_ you return to your temple once the matter of the Blacksite has been dealt with."

"A God. Is that not what _you_ think of yourself, Commander?" the Paladin coolly responds once she had finished her diatribe. Kingsley's smile dropped, though her frostiness flooded to her teal-brown eyes instead. "You may be able to fool the others because they lack the Gift, but I can _feel_ it within you. The Devil's touch."

At her silence, she took the time to step forward, palms leaning on the surface of the desk. "Oh, yes. It is as clear as a cloudless sky. _They_ linger within you, tainting the very centre of your energy. Tell me, have they already begun whispering their lurid promises?"

The muscle in Kingsley's neck twitches, but she does not answer. The Elders have not been able to contact her since she escaped that horrible dark void, but their _children_ had. She slowly tugs the cigarette out from her lips and snuffs it out in a makeshift ashtray.

"I have never thought myself above my fellow man." she says, quietly. "How _dare_ you."

"It's only a matter of time before they make you think as such!" Luminița spat insistently. "And you need someone who is intimate with the knowledge of this power to help you control it, lest your mind be overrun with their false word. If you are indeed the greatest chance humanity has to defeat the Elders, then we cannot have you susceptible to _psionic backdooring_ , now can we?"

Kingsley eyed her for the longest time. The Templar expected many things; verbal abuse, barefaced denial, but not a quiet, humourless chuckle. So, this was Geist's ulterior motive. There was a reason he must have been all too willing to let **this** Paladin go over the countless other zealots under his charm and command. She wasn't simply a mindless fanatic that clung onto his word like the gospel, but a woman with a burning hatred towards the aliens. A true knight Templar, in every sense of the word.

"When society is starting to reform," she notes, fully aware of the _when_. " - Don't take a job in diplomacy."

"If there exists people like you to read beyond my tone and choice of words to my meaning, there would be no need for diplomatic dancing." the Templar lightly refutes, easing back. "Ideally, we should train every day, but given the circumstances, we can settle for twice a week."

"Hold your horses, Feng. I haven't agreed to anything." But she mentally makes note of the time. Her schedule was flooded between managing and juggling meetings with Resistance and Haven leaders to checking on her soldiers, monitoring the next influx of alien activity that the techies on the Bridge are calling ' _Dark Events._ '

"Of course." the Templar said, though they both knew that if the Commander objected, she would have told as much. A short smile graced her lips in victory.

"Now, I believe the location of this Blacksite you wish to assault will be of use to you..."

* * *

There was a reason why ADVENT didn't want humans to even _know_ that Blacksites existed, let alone want anyone visiting one. Lily Shen believed that they might not like the answer once they discovered it. As horrific as the unknown was, she found that the truth could become something far, far worse.

It wasn't like they were rescuing rebels or their own soldiers, but _ADVENT citizens_. Traitors to humanity that willingly walked into the salivating jaws of the Elders' gene machinations. A black thought crossed her mind that their resources were better spent than on ungrateful folk that would happily turn them in to the nearest Peacekeeper even after they spotlight just how insidious the aliens really were.

Shen scolded herself quietly. What would her father think if he heard such thoughts from her? Her spanner stalled over the hardware of the project she was working on, oil-splattered face hung in admonishment. Not all of them had the luxury of simply fleeing the city centres. Most died in transition as border patrols tightened. Fear was just as much of a powerful motivator as it was a deliberation.

Thankfully, she was rescued from her increasingly disparaging thoughts when the doors to the engineering bay peeled back and revealed one of Tygan's scientists. Shen made a note to remind the Commander about the space that wasn't utilized yet within the Avenger. In just a bit of time, she could shift some of the debris. Maybe an area of R&D for easier correspondences between the scientific team and the engineering crew she hoped to one day get.

It would make collaborative projects, like the _Skulljack_ (Tygan's name, Shen's sure.) easier to plan.

"Have you had any sleep at all, Lily?" Dawn questioned in way of greeting, tucking the datapad into the crook of her arm as she entered the bay proper, making her way towards the robotics progidy. She reminded Shen very much like a mother hen, but with a steel in her voice that would deter even the most daring of troublemakers.

"You mean in between the rough draft of the Skulljack, ROV-R's adjustments, remembering that I have to eat, excavating disused rooms and a slew of other tasks that I need to get started on?" the engineer quipped, though cringed shortly after she was met by her flat glance. " - Yes, I have. We're just a little.. understaffed, at the moment. Atleast Tygan's got you."

"Rarely. It's been a while since I managed to assist a research project of his, what with watching Dragunova, the Commander.." she trailed off with a sigh, not wanting to overburden the younger woman. She offered a smile, perking up a little once she caught sight of the project she was working on. " - Is that the _Skulljack_?"

Lily shifted to the side, allowing Dawn to approach the bench and appraise her project. She'd never felt insecure – engineering was something she could do with her eyes closed. It was her lifeblood, her being – but having an older and experienced doctor look over it hearkened back to the days of college. The stuffy, no-nonsense professors that looked down between their noses, scoffing at every obsolete or surplus code usage. Thankfully, Dawn wasn't like that.

"The first iteration of it, anyway." she murmured, handing the hardware for Dawn to inspect. It was worn very much like a glove, but once activated, jutted out razor sharp digital prongs that mimicked a Skirmisher's ripjack. "I'd prefer something long range, but I took a page out of ADVENT's brutality. If we want to access the cranial implant, we're going to have to brute force our way in. Quite literally."

"And you managed this in a week? That's incredible." the medic praised. Pride swelled in Shen's chest and her voice gained the confidence she knew she had once she accepted her project back and gestured to a chip inside of the gauntlet.

"The best part is it's ready for the field _now_. At least, if Captain Mox allows me to install this onto his ripjack. I won't be able to fabricate any more for our own soldiers until we get more alien alloys, though." Shen chewed on the inside of her cheek. No wonder why Tygan scarcely let her borrow the medic's ear – having someone to talk with unleashed the gate for all the pent up desire of conversation.

"Speaking of alien alloys, have you managed to deconstruct the scraps we've been bringing back..?"

"An extra pair of hands would speed it up," the engineer suggests, unable to suppress a smirk when Dawn seemed less than thrilled at helping with that sort of dirty work. " - I know engineers don't exactly grow on trees, but I'd really appreciate it if we tried for another recruitment drive. I just know there's a kid out there who's going to hate their creative freedom being stifled by ADVENT and would jump at a chance to work with us."

"I hear you, Lily." the older woman mildly agrees. "I'm not the one you should be telling, though."

"Sorry. It's just – I have to get it out. ROV-R's not much of a conversationalist." she breathed and matched Dawn's understanding smile. "Would, uh, Captain Mox let me install the Skulljack modification? The faster I get results from field testing, the quicker I can use them."

"I don't see why not." the older woman mused, eying Lily for a moment. She shifted her weight from one foot to another and struggled to keep her look of apprehension out of her eye. It didn't escape Dawn's notice. " ... I can remain in the engineering bay if you'd like to ensure that there's.. no feedback."

Not really why Dawn was willing to stay, but if she could ease the girl's anxiety, then she would.

Lily's posture relaxed immediately. She knew the Skirmishers were not ADVENT, but it was rather difficult to separate the two when he stood as an imposing mass of muscle and combat expertise. " - I would appreciate that."

It didn't take long for the request to meet Pratal Mox. Dawn heard his heavy footfalls before the familiar white and red-specked armour came into view. He hadn't changed out into his casual-wear (if lounging in underarmour could be called that) but his helmet lay clipped to his belt, along with his bullpup. He gave them a curt nod in polite address, his body naturally falling to parade rest.

"Alright, so," Lily started, her habit of rapid-fire talking picking up to overwhelm her nerves. " - If you just, come over here and lay your armed gauntlet over the bench. Try not to move, it'll mess my concentration up."

"This will allow us to interface with the internal chips?" he asked, doing as instructed. He helpfully sunk into the stool by the bench, not a hint of unease present on him as Lily fluttered about with various tools and handled his arm much like one might manipulate a piece of metal. Rough, but deliberate movements, with the air that she knew what she was doing.

"It'll provide an unobstructed link to the Network client-to-server side. ROV-R's all hooked up and ready to go, so all you really need to do is.. well." She cleared her throat, gesturing with the tip of her finger underneath her chin, to indicate where he would have to pierce. ".. the heavy lifting, so to speak. I do have to impose that there's a lot of danger with this. You're going to have to get close enough to _Skulljack_ them in the first place."

She paused. " - God, that sounds invasive. We should, uh, go for a different name."

Mox ignored her comment and hummed. "I was built and trained for close quarter skirmishes. I would have protested if any other soldier was given the opportunity."

Shen nodded absentmindedly, deft fingers working the chip into place. Her gaze kept falling to her datapad, scanning the results for runtime errors or any other issues. It seemed to be functional. She prodded two fingers into his wrist and the digital blades layered over the twin clawing ones of the ripjack. She instructed him to lift his arm slowly, which he did. Good, everything looked to be in-sync and layered correctly.

"Green across the board." she murmurs under her breath, deactivating the tool and gesturing Mox at ease. "It'll only have enough juice to hack one Officer – and only an Officer – so if you use it, make sure it counts. Once I get around to cloning myself, I **_might_ ** have enough time to streamline the design and add some new features."

At Mox's bewildered look, Dawn snickered.

* * *

Once the doomsday approached, Central had the squad of six standing at attention in the barracks. The Commander wasn't present, having a medication-induced rest in her quarters, but would be wide awake and alert when the drop happened. Bradford paced down the assembled line, not once stopping to give any special attention to any one soldier.

"If you're expecting a rousing speech like the one of the peace treaty, then I'm going to disappoint you." he began, tone gruff, but the crinkles at the corner of his eyes belayed his smirk. The soldiers relaxed some – it **_was_ ** a tense mission into unknown territory they would be dropping – but never once lost their respect for the Central Officer.

"ADVENT has done more than enough to keep this place under the radar. Up until now, we didn't even know what a Blacksite was – and we're still not entirely sure what it _is_ either. We can thank the Commander's friend for tipping us off and the Templar's for their diligence."

His gaze settled on the yellow clad Paladin that would be attending the mission. She matched it coolly with the barest hint of a knowing smile. Bradford didn't want to think he'd misjudged her, but he wasn't a coward when it came to admitting when he was wrong.

"When you drop, I want you to expect heavy resistance. You've been playing around with Troopers for too long. Now? Now we'll be seeing the big guns." He stopped in front of Jane Kelly, once his Ranger protégé in the early years of the defeated XCOM, before it was even known that. He bit back a scoff when he noticed that she finally had her sword strapped to her back without his reminding prompt.

"Once you're in the field, Corporal Kelly will take squad lead. You'll answer to her calls during hostile contact and advance when she advances. If you have any complaints, spit it out now."

No-one voiced their complaints. Bradford marched on, giving one last inspection to the remaining squad. He ceased his pacing and offered short nod of approval. " - Good luck out there, Menace. We'll provide additional tactical support as much as we can."

They all snapped into a salute at his send off, turning to file onboard the Skyranger. Firebrand, whom had been lounging out of the cockpit to listen into Bradford's rousing speech, offered a thumbs up before hauling herself into place. Central watched them strap in, up until the doors of the Skyranger automatically shut.

He hoped for an easy mission, one day.

* * *

Jax-Mon was growing familiar with Kingsley's mind.

She drifted on the edges of her fading consciousness, slipping around detection, her psi-energy slow-dancing with the weight of the human's. It was always a strange, yet, marvelous thing to behold. Something she couldn't quite grasp, but that, in of itself, fueled her fascination.

How could something so intimately similar to her masters be so.. nothing alike? She had not Their power, Their strength – and yet the touch was nearly indiscernible.

Curiosity lead her to peek into the dreams that surfaced in her slumber. She expected it to be nonsensical and was not disappointed; though it was the first time she had witnessed Kingsley look so relaxed and carefree. That was the surrealist thing in the dream. Unfortunately, the Assassin couldn't linger long, unless she wanted Kingsley to be made aware of her audience.

She sought after the surface thoughts, the ones that had yet to be buried by the years of memories. The recent affairs; the conversations. At a distance, all she could hear was drowned muffling. She strained closer, inch by inch. The words were still skewered, but she felt every tone, every emotion.

From disapproval – to anger – to knowing resentment. A series that the Assassin knew all too well. Peeling back, she sent her energy outwards, trying to slip in undetected to glance at her thoughts properly.

Kingsley's consciousness stirred.

The Assassin froze, letting her energy drop and almost withdrawing from the connection completely, psionic feedback be damned. Thankfully, the Commander's mind merely slipped out of one dream and into the next. Good, that will provide enough distraction. She tried, impatiently desperate at the thoughts again, until the void answered her. _**Blacksite**_. They were going to assault the Blacksite presently.

Took them long enough. Severing the connection, Jax-Mon wordlessly rose to meet XCOM on the field of battle.


	24. Strike

The ADVENT Blacksite was situated in the wilderness of Western Europe, according to Feng's intel. Whilst most unmarked territory swarmed with ghosts of the old world taken physical form in the Lost, this particular quadrant had nothing but large overgrowth and nothingness in it's vast expanse of unclaimed natural bounty.

Emptiness, after all, was a staple of the Chosen Hunter's hunting ground, before he had settled territory with his sister.

But things seldom remain empty for long, as fledgling Resistance soldiers found out the hard way that ADVENT's border patrols and soldiers seemed to stalk every inch of the Earth, even in reportedly desolate sectors.

In any case, XCOM arrived to make the world that tiny bit safer. Firebrand didn't dare fly any closer than what was necessary, grimacing when she spotted distinct anti-aircraft artillery shadowing all around the site. Bradford wasn't lying when he said they'd be armed to the teeth.

" _This is as close as I can get her._ " the pilot informed, circling the metal bird back around to the woodland that encroached a two miles away from the site. She heard the distinct rattling of boots thudding on metal as the safety harnesses peeled back and the squad prepared for drop.

" _Be careful, Menace._ " Lily Shen's voice crackled in staccato spurts over the radio frequency. " – _The Blacksite is on an unusual high alert. If I didn't know any better I'd say they were.. expecting us._ _Going silent now._ _"_

"Great." Kelly cursed under her breath, habitually checking over her gear once they had all landed on a raised hill. The facility in question was just in the horizon – by no means a short walk, but manageable – and she could see the outline of turrets dotting the rooftops with their illuminated ammo reserves.

She shot a look over to her companions. All of them wore a grizzled face of anxious readiness, with the exception of Feng, though no-one was more reluctant to step forth than Kelly herself. She had some basic squad leadership skills, but she didn't expect to be tested on a mission so vitally critical to their cause.

If this doesn't earn her a promotion, she was going to file a complaint.

Dark comedy aside – as she found the prospect of surviving an assault like this humorous – Kelly decided there was no time like the present to start cautiously advancing. She kept half-waiting for Bradford's stern commands, or even the Commander's eerie calm voice to direct them, but until their concealment was lost, radio silence was imperative.

Assuming they had the advantage of stealth in the first place. What was the likelihood ADVENT already knew they were here, assaulting this very moment? Logically, she wanted to think low, but when dealing with Aliens, Kelly found that the unexpected or the unthought was usually the more common answer. Or, more likely than not: no answer at all.

Kelly slowly advanced forward, the rest of her squad waiting for her approval on the top of the shaded hill. Using the thick vines that crept down as makeshift rope, they more than easily held her weight as she descended. She looked left. She looked right. It was far too early to be relieved at the sight of no patrols at the borders.

She moved on just a bit further where the untamed grasslands melted into tidier terrain, with small crash barriers lining the roadside. She doubted that any human had ever came through by the road, but she supposed the troops needed to move to and from somehow. She squatted down at the half-cover of the barrier, as the holographic frame didn't make for much defense.

Kelly wordlessly raised the tip of her shotgun into the air and satisfied there was no trigger-happy sniper waiting for the right moment to shoot, replaced it with her hand to signal the rest of the squad over. They mobilized, picking their spots dotted across the landscape without traveling further than where she had pushed ahead. Klaus Webnar, another ranger with a penchant for subterfuge, slipped up beside her.

They shared a mutual nod, with her cocking her head to indicate that only he should follow.

The two Rangers crept along the roadside, although movement around the corner of a nondescript building caught her eye. Her hand shot out, roughly grabbing Webnar's combat gear and yanking him down to the ground with her. A few beats pass when an Officer and Trooper strolled into view. They had yet to notice them.

Wetting her lips, Kelly weighed her options. They could ambush the patrol before they raise the alarm, or they could risk laying low and pray their eyes didn't stray over the barrier. She followed the way they were walking with her eyes; the direction they seemed most inclined to turn. Sooner or later, they would wander down the path where XCOM were hiding out at and she didn't want to be caught out like a sitting duck.

The squad leader turned to Mox, tapping the arm where his grappling hook lay. She followed it up with jutting her index and middle finger out like prongs, gesturing up underneath her chin. He understood the command and inched just past the two Rangers, tracking the Officer with his launcher.

" _Vox Tala for Ten!_ "

The grapnel shot forth in a hiss of twanging wired metal. The battle-cry caught the patrol's attention, but even as the two raised their magnetic rifles and the Officer barked a sharp order in their language, it was cut off by his guttural scream when the hook pierced through the alien alloys. His subordinate darted to take cover behind a nearby parked motorbike, watching dismayed.

Mox yanked the Officer towards their motley squad, drawing him in with the aid of his own strength and the grappling's pulley. By the time the soldier realized the futility of prying the grapnel out from it's nest made of his ribs, he was already standing before the Skirmisher. He tried to drive the butt of his rifle into Mox's stomach, but his disorientated strike was easily swiped away and his gun knocked out of his hands.

The digital interface of the Skulljack popped up, layering over his ripjack. He steadied the dazed Officer with his free hand as he stabbed the prongs up through his chin. The clone kicked wildly and clawed at his arm, before the body noticeably _slumped_ , unmoving.

Dawn motioned for her GREMLIN to display the results of the Skulljack, giving them a visual of the Network's inner workings. Her fingers flew over the touch screen, directing the signals and desperately trying to buy them as much time as they needed before the Network caught wind of their little attempt. " – Tell me you're getting this Lily!"

" _There's a lot of feedback_ ," the engineer admitted. " _All I'm getting is encrypted data and.. useless strings –_ "

"That is because the data is not meant to be processed in such a way. It requires a more – organic approach." Mox informed blearily. Dawn looked up from her GREMLIN, biting back a gasp as he too struggled to keep from being overloaded by the Network. It was not the first time he had accessed another of his kind's chip, but this was considerably a higher clearance than he'd ever attempted.

* * *

**_Rec_ ** **_EI_ ** **_v_ ** **_I_ ** **_ii –_ ** **_NG_ ** **,** **OFFI[ERROR!#]CER_000112#**

_**FILE [ERROR!#] D** _ _A_ _**TA** _ **_RECONSTRUCTION FROM [ERROR!#] SUBJECT BL?CK?SITE TO?IC PROJECT "?TAR."_ **

**[ERROR!#]** "The …. Elders, blessed they be … an atrophy that shared amongst Ethereal and even sub-Ethereal kind such as the Ch … could they truly hold the key? Improvements and even a … but they would be sacrificing … the void - "

**_**ERROR!** _ **

**_**ERROR!** _ **

**_**ERROR!** _ **

**_!_ ** **_**ALERT, UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS !** _ **

**…**

**_**VIRUS** _ ** **_**QUARANTINE** _ ** _SUCCESSFUL._

**_**SERVER MESSAGE** _ ** _HELLO_ **_,_ ** _FIELD-GENERAL_MOX._

* * *

Mox reeled back, letting the corpse of the Officer drop to the floor in an unceremonious heap, hands cradling his head at the feedback of ejecting so swiftly out of the Network. He barely registered Dawn's sharp cry of alarm when her GREMLIN spluttered, the visuals on screen going haywire. Static sparks frequently spat out, forcing the doctor to draw back or risk being shocked.

"What the _hell_ is going on back there?!" Kelly demanded, as she, Klaus and Lukas kept the trooper hiding behind the bike busy. Neither one of them wanted to dart closer, lest something more sinister be lurking around the corner and the trooper knew, instinctively, that running away to join another patrol would be a sprint of suicide.

"Technical difficulties," came Dawn's pressed answer, slowly grappling with her GREMLIN to keep it's erratic form still, attempting to access it's mainframe. Unfortunately, her risk assessment proved true as she yelped when it shocked her. " – CAD-C! You've got to let me reset you – "

She trailed off as a lump formed in her throat. The weight of the air suddenly felt ten times more palpable and the source of it stemmed from Mox. The combat medic's gaze drew towards the Skirmisher, concerned, only to find him wrenching the ripjack off and throwing it to the floor, leaving his right hand bare. Naturally, she tried to seek injury, but none could be spotted.

"Captain – "

That was all she managed to say before the psionic energy in the air congealed intensely, like a collapsing star. The Skulljack's chip cracked with each increase of density until it outright shattered; letting the collecting energy supernova into a rift of sorts.

_Not a rift,_ the CMT thought dazedly; watching utterly entranced how the swirls of alien power band around and pulse with every revolution of itself. _A gateway._

Once the dying void expanded the last of it's energy outwardly, warping around each soldier with enough strength that they felt it in their bones, a single entity dropped and landed gracefully silent on it's feet… ? At first, it looked like nothing, and yet everything, all the same. A featureless blob.

But then – then it took _shape_.

The first thing it's sight landed on was the wide-eyes of a frightened, paralyzed Dawn. Thus, it's orange body molded and filled out into the vague shape of a woman. Even as it intermittently flickered in and out of reality, the one thing that remained a constant was it's robotic-looking cranium protected by the outer shell. Black wispy shadows trailed off from the top of it's head like a mocking imitation of the medic's short, auburn locks.

A tense moment of quiet nothing occurred as both the pensive soldiers and the Codex stared each other down.

Jane Kelly leveled her shotgun with the creature and fired.

She didn't know what she expected. The shotgun's spit looked as if it just went right through it, but it let out an ear-piercing, electronic wail that made each of them wince sharply. It nursed it's head, and from the scraps of the 'body' that Kelly shot off, clot to form another translucent entity like it. After images of the shot taking place played visual hell to her eyes and it was frankly giving her a headache.

More pressingly, there were now _two_ Codices. The second's outer shell looked quite washed, like it was running on a failing battery about to give out, though Kelly expected it was just as dangerous all the same. Images of it fluxed towards the left, but the one that contained the Codex's 'brain' was tucked neatly on the roof of the unmarked building. It didn't appear to have an intent on attacking them, but it's hands glowed a soft purple.

"Open fire!" Kelly ordered, squeezing her eyes shut to try and right her vision. Staring too long at the creature was like looking at the sun. Painful and ill-advised.

At this point, the first Codex had repositioned, though like it's copy, it did not make an attempt to strike. It chattered in little subsonic bytes of sound and it only became apparent what they were doing when Lily's worried voice shouted over the intercom;

" – _You have to kill them quickly! The – I'm trying to isolate the connection to our servers thanks to the compromised Skulljack, but they're just flooding it with so much useless data – they're going to shut – "_

The communications channel shut off, cutting the squad from tactical support at the same time that Dawn's GREMLIN dropped dead, offline. Emergency systems such as requesting the Skyranger still seemed to be operable, but Kelly wasn't going to let this be a mission failure. They couldn't afford to fail. She charged forth with her blade drawn.

" – The trooper's getting away!" Vaun shouted, hoisting his mini-gun. He let loose a hail of bullets towards the sprinting soldier, but other than a glancing hit, most failed to connect.

A streak of yellow shot out from the grassy incline with a crackle of bright purple psi-energy trailing in her wake. Luminița began to catch up to the retreating trooper, close enough that she was able to throw herself forward and plunge her blade deep through it's back and out it's chest. The body convulsed before stilling shortly.

She siphoned whatever energy she could from the dead clone as she withdrew her blade, gathering the raw, muted psi-power into her hands, letting her palms shape it before absorbing it for her own use. It washed over her like a cool, wet cloth, refreshing every pore and cleansing every inch of her being.

Kelly tried to slash the first Codex, but it's body, when they could see it, twisted in sickening ways that would kill a human if they tried. She couldn't even begin to understand how she managed to hit it the first time if her sword merely cut through air like it wasn't even -

_It wasn't even there._

Her eyes shot towards the 'second' Codex, which very well might just be the first, up on the rooftops. She tried to spy a way up there, but with Mox unavailable as Dawn tends to him, they would have to breach the building. Since ADVENT likely knew they were here now due to the death of the Officer, she called;

"Vaun, launch a grenade, level the entire bloody building if you have to!"

"My pleasure," He grinned, settling his mini-gun to the floor in exchange for his grenade launcher. Stepping forth, eyes flashing as he calculated the perfect angle that his squad lead was looking for, the after-images of the Codex on ground level reacted violently. It's entire body lit up purple for a moment as it expelled the psionic energy gathered in it's hands and into a storm around the group.

"What the – " He squeezed the trigger and heard the familiar click and grind of the launcher's mechanisms, but no grenade shot out. Most of the soldiers caught in the strange swirl of thickening psi-energy found similar results with their weaponry. Luminița recognized the mounting danger.

"Get out of the rift!" she warned. The soldiers didn't bother waiting for Kelly's approval to scatter, with Dawn slipping Mox's arm over her shoulder and helping him out of the growing implosion. By the time she dragged them both to safety, the psi-energy compacted in an almighty, yet contained, eruption.

Once the psi-energy had settled, Webnar gingerly picked himself up from behind a set of overturned crates, one of which had toppled from the shock wave of the detonation onto his back. Briefly tending to his spine with a low grumble under his breath, he crept towards the building, undetected by the alert Codex. He may not be as skilled as Kelly when it came to the blade, but he had one advantage over her: stealth.

Plucking his grenade from his belt, he ripped the tag, palmed the live bomb in his hand for a second before rearing his arm back and chucking it as hard and high as he could. His throwing arm might not be as accurate as Vaun's launcher, but the grenade only needed to sail just high enough to where the Codex was perched.

It was out of the blast radius, crouching low, but the building it was set up on was decidedly less sturdy. The foundations crumbled and roof caved, sending the Codex careening to the floor. It shrieked in horrible clips of distorted, discordant waves of sound, teleporting in a flash of orange and purple before it hit the ground. When it re-appeared, it was at ground level – and in range for Dawn to line her pistol up with it and take a shot.

She was no sharpshooter, but thankfully all she needed was a glancing shot for the orange shell encased around it's cortex to rupture into a thousand pieces. The images of it's copy faded instantly upon the being's death, leaving nothing behind but the black, metal brain.

Kelly released a breath she didn't know she was holding, slumping to sit. She allowed a brief moment to remove her cap, wipe away the sweat on her brow and snugly fit the hat back on. No time to rest, not as a squad leader. She looked over her crew. " – Check."

"We're down a grenade and a medkit." Dawn assessed. " – and we are still silent. Mox is – "

"I can fight," the Skirmisher protested before the doctor even finished her sentence, pinching the bridge of his nose. The lingering touch of the Network's grip had been like icy claws clenched around his brain: highly unpleasant and dizzying. He only hoped whatever data that Shen salvaged from the battle of the Codex would help her improve her virus. He would like to avoid triggering the Network's anti-virus protocol.

" – in denial about the Skulljack's side-effects." coolly the doctor finished, cutting him with a disapproving gaze for interrupting her. She was just about to further chew him out when her GREMLIN beeped softly, the panels of it's 'face' twitching and flickering about as it rebooted. Dawn fumbled a quiet laugh when it tackled her affectionately.

"Let me see if I can establish communication with the Avenger before we advance."

Luminița rejoined the group, pacing restlessly. Once her power had been unleashed, her careful focus was traded for a tempestuous rage that needed more energy to quell her fire. She knelt down to scoop up the cortex left behind by the Codex, inspecting the headlight-eyes and intricate chip work etched on the surface.

She clipped the brain to her belt. She wasn't one for trophies, but these creatures were a result of the Network's defenses – and thus, must know more about it than a common trooper. Tygan and Shen would be happy to analyze it nonetheless.

Tense anticipation settled over the squad as Dawn tirelessly worked to get in contact with the Avenger. Kelly was just beginning to contemplate calling the Skyranger after all when the combat medic elicited a small cheer – before promptly clearing her throat and retaining some professionalism. The radios crackled and Bradford's voice filtered in.

" … _come in, Menace. This is Avenger, Menace._ "

"We're hearing you, Central." Kelly affirmed. "All surrounding hostile units are eliminated. We're about a mile away from the site itself."

" _Good work, Menace_." Central praised. " _– Proceed to the target facility and stay on the objective. That skirmish with the Codex.._ _thing_ _might have given us a bit of a scare, but it'll take more than that to have us retreat with our tails between our legs._ "

“Aye sir,” Kelly checked over her shotgun, making sure it was functional, as she had been in the epicentre of the rift, before gesturing for her squad to advance with her.


	25. Regrets

The advancing slow crawl was beginning to grate on Jane Kelly's nerves – more than she'd like to admit. Adrenaline of the battle still pumped through her veins hotly and she wanted nothing more than to arc her sword into the shoulder of some deserving Elder puppet. But, she kept a level head, for the sake of her squad. Every now and then she cast her gaze over her shoulder to check on them.

They looked more than capable to fight, as the Codices mercifully did not seem to harm them, but rather intent on disabling them. Kelly didn't want to find out just how hard they could hit – and if the rift they were spawned from was any indication, they must be psionics. She wondered what other nasty surprises did ADVENT have lurking in the bases just waiting to unleash once they poked the sleeping dragon enough times.

Despite the base being on high alert, there were surprisingly little patrols between the secluded grasslands to the compound proper. An inactive ADVENT Skyranger lay resting on it's pad and most of the stations were unmanned. It was as if the majority of the base had simply evacuated, which made no sense. It was certainly not an autonomous facility. Why the lack of manpower?

Her questions burrowed in her like insidious paranoia, making her skin feel clammy and her mouth dry. It all accumulated to one, alarming word: _Trap_. They must be walking into a trap.

"Halt," she barked out in order, stopping before a parked, abandoned vehicle. The squad followed her order, fanning out to take cover behind the walls of the surrounding buildings or even the Skyranger itself. She scanned the surrounding area, tracking it with the muzzle of her shotgun and frowned. Not an ADVENT in sight. Were they all just waiting for them inside the site itself?

"Webnar, scout up ahead."

The German Ranger dipped his head in acknowledgement, slipping his shard gun into it's sling and crouching low to the floor, mimicking the similar track of a Reaper's sprint. He took cover in the shade of a long, bullet-style train which merely looked like a locomotive version of their typical vehicle design. Sure, it may have been sleek, eye-catching and distinctly ADVENT's brand, but visually unoriginal.

He sidled down the length of the train until he came to a baggage dock, only to quickly dive behind it's cargo when one of the heavy turrets mounted on the facility's roof booted into life; glowing an ominous ready yellow. The turret's head spun on it's axis, scanning the surrounding area for that sign of life that briefly flickered in. Once it's sweeping protocol had finished, it remained active, periodically searching every other second.

"There's a turret on the left-hand side of the roof," he informed quietly over the two-way radio, squinting over the stacked pods, straining his eyes. " – Think there's one further down, still on the left and – I'm hearing alien chatter. Two. No."

A pause. The guttural, buzzing of ADVENT's speech was as unmistakable as the bug-like chattering of the Sectoid's malformed, subhuman teeth.

"Four. One x-ray, three pugs."

" _On our way,_ " Klaus ignored the affirmation of his squad-leader, as once his gaze fell to the cargo he was hunkered down behind, he began to actually look at what it was. Strange, pod-shaped boxes. Like _coffins_ , or cocoons that caterpillars use for metamorphosis. He risked crawling over to the edge of the stack to see past the green, thick tinted glass – and swore loudly when he did.

* * *

"A-Are those..?" the fright in Shen's tone was chilling to those on the deck of the Avenger and it did not lose it's fear over the terrible, re-established comm-line.

"Bodies." Bradford breathed, seeing the visual on screen through Klaus' camera. All scout units were equipped to give them live footage from the field of battle, but in this regard the spotty feed and distorted images did not help his unsettled stomach. He saw the faces clearly, despite the static. Citizens, some faces twisted into grimaces or screams from when they were taken – some serene, tranquil and unaware.

He prayed that it was merely a flicker of light cast over the glass playing a trick on his eyes, because he didn't want to come to grips with the fact they could still be alive when he thought he saw one blink.

"Even after all these years, they were still abducting people … they might never have even stopped." Central murmured, lost too deep into his own thought, swaying a little on deck as the realization flooded each and everyone of them. He risked a glance to Kingsley, whom remained statuesque. His gaze hardened, as if begging her to say anything. Anger, fear, upset.

She did not respond, staring at the close up of the alien coffin.

Lily confirmed Bradford's worst fear. " – The.. containers .. look like they have self-contained power cells, like the ones they employ for their data vaults. Some of those people could still be alive if their pods are acting like a stasis suit."

Then, quite daringly, she adds; "With enough time.. I think Doctor Tygan and I could crack them open without harming the patient inside. We could theoretically save most of them, depending on the condition of the containment unit."

"The cargo hold of the Skyranger isn't nearly enough to carry them all, let alone with a full squad. Maybe three or four." Bradford sucked in a sharp breath. " – It would take more than a hundred trips and that's just looking at the ones _**outside**_ the facility. Firebrand's an ace, but those anti-air guns are still live and she can't dodge ADVENT's interceptors forever."

"Well – Doctor Lovett is on the field, right?" she persisted. "I'm sure I could counsel her, or maybe I can take remote access of her GREMLIN – "

"Where would they go, Lily?" interjected Kingsley. The only note to her lilt was the ever present tiredness that seemed to pervade every inch of her. She admired the engineer's stalwart heart and determination, but her hope was ill-founded. She gripped the railings of the Command deck tightly, keeping her frosty gaze onto the image of the alien coffins before them. "If ADVENT have brought them here, then they have no life to return to. They will be hunted down."

As Lily opened her mouth to hotly protest, Kingsley raised a silencing hand. " – The nearest Resistance haven isn't for miles and we attract more danger by sticking with them, both to ourselves and to the civilians."

"So, what do you suggest, Commander?" spat Lily, venomous enough to make a Viper proud. "That we simply ignore them? Leave them to die?"

' _I have often wondered what separated a good commander to a great one_.'

Kingsley didn't appreciate the Assassin's commentary coming in at the most inopportune time. She stared at the image ahead, unmoving, nonspeaking, even as Kelly's squad caught up with Klaus and pensively awaited their next order from their leader. She was aware of Bradford's gaze, to Lily's acerbic one. The uncertainty of the techies manning the stations and the cool regard of Jax-Mon's attention resting like a blanket on her mind.

Her jaw clenched as she could feel the Chosen drifting through her memories like one might window-shop. It had been easier for the children of the Elders to contact her, to reach and torment her as her health declined. She tried to block her out, but unlike the Assasin's brothers, she was an elusive shadow that drifted just far away. In reach by the tip of her fingers, but not quite close enough to dispel her.

The Assassin selects a particularly burrowed memory to view for the both of them. Kingsley tightly screws her eyes shut – ignoring Bradford's concerned call – as it played in the forefront of her mind.

_Decked in her former XCOM uniform, the Kingsley of the past stood in parade rest before the Council of Nations as they recited the current month's loss against the alien threat._

' _Squadrons one through twenty five, including the Sentinel and Typhoon manned divisions have all been destroyed in dogfights with the UFOs and their interceptors, Commander.'_ _The spokesman for the Council informed with grim disappointment. 'Our infantry are being slaughtered by the battalions against their mechanized unit your team refers to as a 'Sectopod.''_

' _Our naval units are also being sunk by an unknown force.' the Admiral added at the side of her in the war room, hands steeped over the table as their map was looking more and more scarce the longer the combat against the alien threat raged on. 'The shipwrecked mariners returning to shore all give differing eye-witness accounts – and that's just the sane ones! Something is getting in their heads, their minds.'_

' _Regretfully, I must inform you as well that Argentina has withdrew from the XCOM Project, following it's armistice to the alien forces. Whilst they do not doubt your ability to lead, their eyes are set on_ _the future of their land_ _.' told the shadowed man. Kingsley could see the lack of colour in his hands as he clenched them tightly. He didn't agree with the Council's choices, but as their mouthpiece, he could not disagree._

' – _and it appears as though Germany and Egypt may follow their example,_ _including withdrawing your chief scientist, Doctor Vahlen._ _What do you propose, Commander?'_

When Kingsley opened her eyes and settled her despondent gaze on Lily – whom shrunk back under it – she found herself speaking the same words as she had once before.

"The loss of these lives are unfortunate, but we cannot spare the time for the dead when we still have the living to protect." Kingsley felt sick in her stomach, more so when the presence of the Assassin in her mind curved in a knowing smile. She blocked her out as much as she could, ignoring the broken expectations on Lily's face. "Continue on to the Blacksite, Menace. That's an order."

' _Knowing that you cannot save them all, I find, is a_ good _start.'_

* * *

Jax-Mon winced sharply when the psionic feedback snapped across her mind like a whip. She hadn't expected Kingsley to fight back so strongly when her defenses were so weak. Humans were awfully sensitive things – when the right buttons were pushed, they were capable of accomplishing great feats of superhuman strength … or disgustingly petty vengeance.

Soothing her head, she rose from her meditative crouch at the roofs of the Blacksite to approach the railing, looking down upon the gathering of XCOM soldiers preparing to breach the facility. She kept herself cloaked and the turret beside her hummed into life, dipping the barrel towards the target it calculated most likely to hit – A white haired soldier, one that oozed with enough psionic energy that would make her elder proud.

Or, more likely, _revolted_. He despised humans harnessing the Gift of their masters, thinking them heedless, unskilled dogs. She was inclined to share that distaste, though she would never let it show so openly. A great commander would not allow their own opinion to colour their goals or their threat assessment.

The soldier – the Network recalled files on her instantly thanks to her skirmishes with her elder brother, her identity known as Luminița Feng – gathered the psi-energy into the conduits of her gloves, shooting out twin blades that conjoined into a shield, absorbing the magnetic auto-fire of the turret.

Power from her focus and the magnetic bolts congealed into a volatile sphere; unstable and arcing out from the palm of her hand and scorching the ground around her. It traveled the length of her arm, the muscles of which noticeably tensing under the heat and perspire with a flash sweat. She drew it back – and then hurled it forward.

It shot like lightning, smashing into the internal circuitry of the turret and exploding the automated defense in a shower of debris and latent energy. Smoke billowed from where it once lay – and the scent of magnetic fire would likely linger on Feng for the rest of the mission.

"Efficient," her companion that Jax-Mon knew herself to be Jane Kelly noted. A notorious criminal that was ADVENT's most wanted. She had yet to return the Ranger's favour of a gut full of shotgun slag – Reapers were not the only creatures with _long memories._

Her lip curled when Mox drifted out of sight – and she corrected that by leaping effortlessly off the roof, landing behind the squad neatly and soundlessly. She slipped into a crouch on top of an unoccupied fork lift, glowering at the Skirmisher that cheated death more than the Chosen had themselves. How many times did she have to send him to death's door before he remained there?

She took a page out of her older brother's book to study her prey before striking. They were currently sizing up the patrol of four, to which Jax-Mon helpfully alerted them through the Network of the oncoming threat. The squad mobilized, which in turn sent XCOM scrambling to better positions, lest their flanks be caught.

The Assassin would study them fight. Study them work in cohesion – and then prove to them the futility of their efforts. Show their Commander the countless lives she continues to waste, even twenty years later. The longer she denied the Elders Their right to her - the higher the body count.

First to emerge out of the ADVENT patrol was the Stun Lancer barrelling out the front entrance, the spines of the stun baton raised and sputtering with a red electric current. His gaze behind the red visor locked with his unfortunate target of the medic Dawn, shouting aggressively in ADVENT's tongue and charging towards her with as much ferocity as a stampeding Berserker.

Even as she nailed a decent shot of her pistol into his dominant arm, he relentlessly pursued her, too doped up on stimulants to feel the blood oozing out of his injured arm. He vaulted over one of the pods and weaved out of the gunfire of her companions with an unprecedented agility – smacking her arm aside to make her pistol shot go wide.

Dawn swiftly grabbed his wrist to try and grapple his baton away from her form, swallowing thickly as the heat of the current washed over her from proximity. She struggled briefly, but the Stun Lancer was made of sterner stuff than the average trooper, easily overpowering her to drive the forked spines into her stomach.

" – Dawn!" Lukas called, watching the medic crumple to the floor after a hoarse, bedraggled scream tore from her throat. He leveled his minigun up with the Lancer, whom ignored all around him to continue to wail on the medic with a swift kick to her ribs, intending to drive his baton down - until the Grenadier unleashed a barrage of cannon fire into him, sending the body limp over a stack of pods and splattering the green containment cover orange.

He intended to rush over there to assist her, but was forced to duck under cover when magnetic fire of the Officer and Trooper tore through the narrow doorway, creating a kill-zone of sorts.

Jax-Mon observed, keenly interested as despite this, Lukas picked himself back up and powered on towards his fallen friend – even when one of the bullets grazed his arm. He gritted his teeth, biting back the whine of pain

"Shit, shit – " Kelly swore, keeping a hand on her cap as it threatened to be carried with the wind of the suppressing fire. She'd seen Dawn go down and her heart hammered for the worst. "Tell me she's alive!"

Lukas discarded his cannon, dropping to the floor and hauling the medic to his lap – exhaling with great relief that her shallow breaths indicated she was alive. Her GREMLIN whizzed around uselessly – without the direction of it's master, it did not know how to compute the situation.

"She's alive, but she's unconscious!" he roared over the gunfire. "A-And.. got a broken rib. She needs medical attention."

He glanced the GREMLIN – and an idea struck. Activating the two-way radio, he contacted the Avenger; "Dr. Shen, can you take remote control of CMT Lovett's GREMLIN? She's been knocked cold but I think she administers the medkit through her robot."

" _The medkit won't revitalize her_ ," Tygan's voice filled in as the sounds of furious typing accompanied him. " _But it should extend the time she can go without a proper surgical procedure._ "

" _Accessing… got it!_ " Shen announced. The GREMLIN stilled in mid-air, almost dropping completely, before it returned to hover a little more haphazard than it's usual erratics. Lukas tilted back, allowing the GREMLIN to flutter down to use the medkit. The cloud of nanites washed over Dawn's body, but as Tygan said – she didn't wake up.

"I've got you, doc, like you've always got us." muttered Lukas, slipping an arm around her waist and lifting her to rest supported over his shoulders. She wasn't as light as he expected, as a CMT's gear was virtually just as hefty as a soldier's, but he packed a minigun and carried it easily enough. He tucked one of her arms over his shoulder to his chest and held onto it to keep her firmly in place.

As Luminița demonstrated before, she connected her psi-blades into a large shield of energy, leaping in the centre of the kill-zone. Fire from the Officer's and Trooper's weapons hailed into her defense and she struggled to hold it up as she provided respite for the squad to reposition. She noticed Kelly slide up behind her, urging her onward. They only needed enough room to get a foot in the door.

"I can't – Hold it … much longer… !" the Templar warned, pushing herself to the limits; the physical exertion as clear as day on her face as she poured more and more of her psi-energy into sustaining the shield. Dizziness swarmed her increasingly blurry vision until she eventually collapsed to one knee as the purple blades wavered in and out of view.

It bought them just enough time for Kelly to bolt into the facility. The two ADVENT changed their course to try and shoot her, alleviating Luminița of the continued fire. Her shield dropped and she heaved a greedy breath, hands splayed on the cold ground in utter mental and physical exhaustion.

Jane didn't bother with any fancy sword tricks that the Assassin might be fond of. She merely feinted out a shot to give her the advantage to press the offense – and cleanly decapitate the Officer with her sword. The trooper, upon witnessing the death of his superior, panicked and attempted to shakily shoot her down – only to be gunned by Mox, whom stormed through the front door and landed three kicks of his bullpup into the soldier's chest.

"Well, that was an utter disaster," Kelly quipped, wiping the flat of her blade across her thigh to clean it, before sheathing it. "But at least we've got.."

_Three ADVENT._

Where was the Sectoid?!

The noisy creature hissed inhumanly as it reared around the corner of a stack of high crates, plasma bracelet pointed straight at Kelly's heart. Like a deer in headlights, she was convinced she processed things a second too late before her flight instinct kicked in to force her flat to the ground. But, she needn't bother, as a blade pierced through it's back and out through it's chest.

"Klaus.." breathed Kelly in relief. The other Ranger's eyes crinkled at the corner, even as his bandanna hid his grin. He kicked off the Sectoid from his blade, flourished it and offered a bow of showmanship for his display.

"I think that's one drink you owe me, sweetheart." he winked. Had they not been in the middle of a mission, she would've resolved to smack him senseless. She signaled for the rest of the squad to enter, activating the camera on her vest to give the Avenger sight of the inner Blacksite. Now that they were no longer under fire, they could actually look around.

Kelly regretted doing so.

Humongous racks of human-sized test-tubes lined the centre of the facility, hovering over a deep pool of chemical bath that did not bare to be contemplated about. It cast a ghoulish, green glow in the dark of the site. Inside each of the test-tubes were cadavers of humans in various states of decomposition – some, fully formed humans floating in the gelatinous fluid, others skeletal torsos or limbs with dissolved flesh.

The pipework and mechanisms lining around the racks were intricate as they were alien; with the same coloured liquid that collected in the pool surging through, equally draining and replacing the bath.

Jax-Mon stared at the same sight as XCOM did, inspecting the abject horror that slackened their jaws or widened their eyes. She felt nothing, glancing at the processing tubes. Nothing but a necessary evil to wheedle out the useless waste of society into better genetic materials. Their Commander understood sine qua non – but evidently, not her soldiers.

' _ADVENT follow without question, without regret. Would you not prefer to lead those that depend on your every word than deal with this, Commander?'_ she taunted, knowing full well that Kingsley could not respond – only listen.

" _So many victims.."_ It was rare that Tygan ever got so emotive, but he sounded choked up – devastated, perhaps believing that he may have contributed to the butchery before them through his research and work. _"… processed with such, brutal efficiency. Test subjects for some sort of, chemical weapon, perhaps? Afflicting humans on a molecular, cellular level?"_

As he spoke, Jax-Mon waved a hand, bringing the facility to life. The metal groaned and squeaked as the racks were lowered out of sight, dipping into the acidic bath. She was beginning to feel something she hadn't ever before – a mounting, racing excitement that begged for it's cathartic relief. A combat spurned by soldiers so jaded by the sights they were not meant to see; it whispered promises of the TRUE battle she yearned for.

" – _It.. looks like a refinery to me, Doctor."_ Lily uncertainly added. At least one among them were not so blind. There, at the far end of the facility, lay the orange sample of Elders' own DNA. Bradford took note of it, even if he may not know just what it was.

" _Once we get a hold of that sample, we'll know for sure."_

" _Acquire the sample, Menace."_ Kingsley intoned _. " – and set the charges. I want this place **erased**."_

"Look upon Their work, XCOM." Jax-Mon urged, lips curving into a fanged smile as each soldier snapped straight into alert. Her voice carried all around the facility, keeping them tense as she stalked the shadows.

"Bask in the Elders' intention for you. It may not pay off now, but perhaps, there lies a far future where your great-grandchildren may live among the stars as Gods, too. Why must you fight against a requisite? Your wars have been far bloodier than **_this_**." A pregnant pause pervades the air – until she cuts it with a sigh.

"Yet if you listened to reason, you would not have come here to your grave. You do not adhere to what is necessary to achieve your full potential. Because of this, you cannot be allowed any further. Because of this … you will die."


	26. Loss

Cover wouldn't save XCOM from her blade, which always struck true and pierced any armour. It was more amusing to watch them cautiously fan out around the Blacksite's refinery. With the lowered racks, it created a bridge over the bath of chemicals, though she understood their hesitance with crossing it. One of the soldiers – Klaus – tested a cautious boot into the fluid and grimaced when it ate through the sole.

Jax-Mon roused her psionics, checking with the Network whom still remained. A squad of three still patrolled the outskirts. A Viper and an Officer-Trooper duo. She notified them of XCOM's incursion, directing the squad to return, but out of sight. She will call upon them if she needed, but for now, it was her battle. The prospect of which excited her. There was a certain morbid catharsis to be had from pain and exertion.

"Do not disappoint me, XCOM.." she purred in the shadows, watching their bodies bristle and the muzzles of their guns blindly track into the absolute dark. Even if a hundred years pass, they lacked the keen sight of those whom knew where to look. The Reaper.. Dragunova, had been a thrilling exception in the skirmish of the dead-zone. A pity she was not with them.

Her brother would not have let her die, that was for sure. It was nothing more than a punishing shot, a reminder of who's better. He'll let her and by extension the Reapers live for as long as they provide entertainment. His brand of mercy was a vile kind: self-serving and utterly reliant on his whims and will. He'd call it the Elders' intention, as a not-so-subtle jab at their masters.

But Jax-Mon thinks him attached, like her elder to his Priests. At least the latter's affections – if one could call it that, they were all inept at displaying such things – were not deplorable and wasted on the enemy.

Not like her, she did not see these marauders as playthings for her own amusement, or filth that wasn't worthy. They were challengers to her skill and she would meet them on the battlefield as an equal; treat them as an opponent to hone her being. Foolish as they were to come here and she pitied them like she had done with Olsen.

She held out hope that the future generations realized the mistake of their ancestors. History has proven that humans _generally_ try to avoid repeating the same errors … as much as they were fond of doing so. But they would have her guiding hand as the planet's ruler to ensure that they only _grew_.

Jax-Mon resolved, then and there, that she would do everything in her power to ascend to her rightful spot with her masters, like her project file proposed. She was meant to be a _**leader**_! She was destined to rally humanity into the potential that they showed – to rise to the stars. The fundamentals were all there, the genetics.

They just needed to be _taught …_ and the bad apples culled from their tree of life. The rotten sowed seeds to dug up – and nothing quite befouled the air and putrefied the bounty like XCOM and the Resistance. They will learn their place, or they would be swept away with the tides of change. She would be a just ruler; pragmatic. The only place in her envisioned future for them were cautionary tales and stubborn grindstone for her to sharpen her blade on.

Whom, among them, would be the first victim to have their blood shed by her hand? It should be significant; a great honour that their lifeblood was allowed to coat the craftsmanship of the Elders.

Should Jane Kelly fall, the leader of the squad – demoralizing as their figurehead was cut down? Perhaps claim her vengeance against Mox, a long standing blood feud against the Skirmisher that death did not want. Or, ease the suffering of their unconscious medic Dawn Lovett, who so often had other lives in her hands, now had her own hung in that tenuous balance.

Her hidden gaze settled on the Templar. No, none of _them_. The first should be an ode to her elder brother. She would do his work for him and prove to the Elders that he had become _surplus_. A commander knew when to cut extraneous funding or personnel and the Warlock was a relic of the past. A twenty-year old genetic design that had long since past redundancy. She was the staple of the Chosen.

Her fingers delicately curled around the familiar cold grip of alien-steel, made of materials that had no name human tongue could pronounce, forged in the furnace of Gods. She drew out the katana, letting it sing through the air with promises of battle, psi-energy rippling off the flat of it. A tight network of psionic created a powerful adhesive to the incomprehensible metal. A design so otherwordly that it could not be replicated.

The Hunter took umbrage to _that_ , naturally. He was told it could not, so therefore he must try. She twisted the handle, slipping the shorter, thinner dagger from it's sheath of the katana itself. Whilst not the Elders' work of her prime blade, it was no less skillfully crafted. A shame, that someone so bent on killing and brutalizing his hunts could create just as beautifully. She wondered, idly, as she stalked towards the yellow-clad knight, if he may have turned out differently if the Elders let him pursuit his interests.

But he wasn't supposed to have _interests_. Only the Elders' will.

It wasn't until the Assassin was directly beside the Templar did the human begin to notice something amiss. Jax-Mon could sense her tiredness, her starvation and need to recuperate. Her little stunt at the door may have been impressive, but without time to rest, she may has well been a wandering lamb.

A flash of purple accompanied the arc of her blade as it soared through the air, slicing up across the Templar's chest. Luminița collapsed to the floor, hand splayed across the wound as if that would staunch the flow of blood. Psi-laced crimson spattered the sickly metal of the ground – and Jax-Mon's shroud dropped to a chorus of belted orders and clicks of gunfire.

"Open fire! Doctor Shen, can you – "

" _Already on it,_ " the Chief Engineer's voice filtered over the main communication line, one that Jax-Mon had access to as the presence of the Commander allowed her to tap into their line. Dawn's GREMLIN whirred, fluttering over to the fallen Templar, intending to administer the second medkit in it's reserve.

Jax-Mon, however, spotted the annoying drone buzzing towards her prey. A simple shift in her stance from sword to martial arts let her strike her foot into the robot with a high-kick, sending it off-course. Twisting the grip on her dagger, she threw it with precision, nailing the GREMLIN in it's chassis and sending it into a broken, smoking heap on the floor, leaking with the fluid of the medkits and oil.

She kept the momentum of her swing, twirling her sword and driving it down into Luminița's back.

Fortunately for the paladin, Geist taught her more than offense. The last of her psi-energy solidified into a second skin, like a protective, chitinous, outer shell. The point of her blade stabbed half-way through it, but her skin was safe. Jax-Mon's eyes widened. No armour, no metal be it natural or man – _alien_ made had ever halted the unstoppable force of her katana's cruelty.

Except for the power of Them. Of course.. the natural, esoteric energy that coursed so bountifully through the Earth would be the immovable object. She laughed, openly, drawing the unsettling brows and apprehension of the soldiers around her.

"You may be safe in your little bubble for _now_ , Luminița Feng," the Assassin warned, a touch **playful**. _Elders forbid_. " – But you'll eventually have to come out, or _asphyxiate_ , it matters not to me. My elder will be pleased at your demise regardless if it is by your own follies or my blade."

She turned her burning gaze towards the soldiers – her keen observation noting the lack of the youthful boy and the medic strapped across his shoulders. She notified the lurking patrol to expect the two – and spare no mercy for the wounded and her carrier.

* * *

"Come on, come on, Firebrand..!" Lukas pleaded, having made the sensible choice to head out of the facility to ferry the still unconscious Dawn to the evacuation site. He was nothing but a liability to the squad without his weapon and he refused to leave the doctor's side unattended. His muscles were also beginning to groan in protest at the strain of carrying the weight of a human.

" _I'd like to see_ you _try to dodge interceptors hot on my flanks AND anti-air artillery at the same time!_ " barked the ace pilot, the roaring sound of engine and hot, plasma fire threatening to smother her response. Lukas winced when he thought he heard something being distinctly hit – and was thankful that Firebrand's colourful cursing was inaudible.

" – _Oh, it's_ **on** _,_ " she growled. " _If it's a dogfight you want, then you're going to have to fly better than a drunken Bradford!_ "

"Firebrand!" swore the Grenadier. Now was not the time for the hot-shot ace pilot to let her indignation get the better of her. "Lieutenant Lovett might actually _die_ if we don't – "

He froze completely when he heard the slithering, the long, drawn out taunting _hiss_. He closed his eyes briefly, beginning his life as a praying, religious man right there as he internally begged that he was hearing things. His head slowly turned, then inched upwards to have his gaze reach the imposing height of a reared Viper.

Her tongue flicked out – in mockery, than anything else, the muzzle of the beastly alien pulled back in a hideous, inhuman grin of peeking, venomous fangs, her tail flicking teasingly. The two ADVENT at her flank kept their mag-guns trained on the Grenadier. Lukas vaguely remembered that Tygan mentioned the Viper's tail muscle being strong enough to bend, or even break most human materials.

"Please.." he croaked in futility, frustrated tears brimming his eyes as swift realization of his situation froze over his being, despite the fact he felt nothing but a hot flush of sweat. "I'm c-carrying wounded – "

Aliens didn't believe in a just war.

The Viper drew her head back, mouth opening wide in a grizzly display to shoot her elongated tongue. The barbed appendage wrapped around Lukas and yanked him towards the awaiting coils of her body. He fought and struggled, but it was stickier than flypaper and his injured party was sent careening to the floor, landing in an awkward, haphazard slump.

The Officer languidly approached the medic, rifle at rest as he nudged her head with the toe of his boot – pausing when the Network identified her face. Doctor Dawn Lovett. ADVENT issued a capture warrant against her, as was a given to all scientific personnel. She would be significantly luckier than her companion that shrieked and fought restlessly against the tormenting Viper's jaws.

Perhaps a death might've been better. ADVENT didn't have anything pleasant in store for their prisoners of war. He swept down, hauling the body over his shoulder with reckless abandon, uncaring if his pauldron dug into her broken rib, keeping her barely supported with an arm cast over her dangling legs.

He cast his sight to his pod just in time to watch the Viper grow bored of playing with her food and sink her fangs into Lukas' neck. His screams died out into guttural chokes, before ceasing all together. Unaffected and unable to be repulsed, the Officer signaled the Network for a Skyranger to a prison facility.

* * *

Jax-Mon flipped over a stack of processed pods, avoiding the rapid-fire bullets of Mox's bullpup, unable to hide her ecstatic joy at the patrol's success. One pesky Grenadier down, one CMT Specialist captured to extract all the knowledge she had of the Avenger until her head exploded from the psionic overload. What was left of XCOM's shamble of a star squad?

An unkempt, exhausted squad lead, an afflicted Skirmisher and a Templar eking out her life as long and painfully as possible.

… The fourth. She hummed to herself, ducking from the spit of Kelly's shotgun as her gaze swept the room for the blond. Nowhere to be found. Oh, she couldn't have been more pleased. He had fled, like a coward, hadn't he?

"I see your skills have vastly declined since your removal from our service, Commander." the Assassin mused, arcing her blade upwards to deflect a particularly nasty shot from Mox. "But I suppose even the greatest military mind cannot forge a cohesive unit out of the slag and spoil of the human race."

" _You are better than this, Balladhur._ "

Kingsley's frosty comment came so unexpectedly that the Chosen shrieked as fragments of Kelly's shotgun bolted into her arm, boring deep enough into the armour to cause some damage. Baring her teeth in response, the Ranger was not given the luxury of landing a second shot as her impenetrable parries deflected all attempts.

"My! Since when did the infallible Commander of XCOM display such heedless arrogance? Enough to presume that you understand _me_?"

" _Play as coy as you wish to, Assassin, but you act no different to your heinous brothers, no matter how much you want to distance from their taint._ " Kingsley said. " _I recall a sense of honour, once. Where has that gone? Or does combat blind all sensibility?_ "

"Words of a losing opponent," Jax-Mon sniffed indignantly, though truthfully every word resonated within her.

Running out ammunition, Kelly scoffed deep in the pit of her throat, tossing the useless shotgun in her sling and drawing her machete. Going toe-to-toe with the Chosen Assassin in swordplay was suicide: but their options were thinning and she'd already heard Lukas' comms flat-line. No time to mourn.

 _Not when the living still required to be protected,_ Kingsley's words floated in her mind. She vaulted over the terminal she had ducked behind for cover, barrelling towards the Assassin, leaping up in a devastating strike that was merely parried and riposted, though surprisingly, the Chosen did not kill her for her mistake, but smacked her with the flat of the blade.

"Sloppy!" she scorned. "You call that technique, Jane Kelly? A true swordsman would never leave their defenses so open to an attack. Have you paid any attention to my own form?"

"Is jabbering your mouth off one of the abilities that the Elders gave you, or is that something you naturally developed on your own?" spat the Ranger, grunting loudly when she felt the shock absorption ripple through the muscles of her forearms when her blade's edge clashed with the Assassin's katana.

"You should be blessed that I would deign to inform you of your errors and allow you realize how much you _could have_ learned from me, had you been compliant," the Chosen sneers. Her grip adjusted and with one clean incision, cut the conventional sword's blade in half. Kelly staggered back with the force of it, narrowly avoiding becoming chopped herself.

At this point, Luminița was forced to drop the stasis shield around her, lest she suffocate in the protective, air-tight bubble. Her psionic energy had mended her flesh, however unsightly it would scar, she knew she couldn't fight. She crawled over to the wreckage of the GREMLIN, plucking the dagger still embedded into it's metallic frame out.

"Kelly!" she shouted to grab her attention, using what little strength she had left to throw the dagger towards her.

Both Jane and Jax-Mon eyed the sailing weapon and pumped with enough natural adrenaline to make a Beserker seem docile, the Ranger defaulted to the basic tactics of dirty fighting – using the distraction to strike a hard fist across the Assassin's jaw.

It didn't do much but momentarily stun her from the sheer audacity of the action, but it bought Kelly the time she needed to swipe the alien dagger that clattered to the floor, close to her feet. Despite it being the short-sword, it was big enough in Kelly's hands to be it's own blade – more than adequate to match the Assassin.

Jax-Mon contemplated a spluttering insult typical to her brother's fare that Kelly sullied such a weapon – but now they were on equal footing in equipment, she could get a true test of the Ranger's skill.

So a grin pulled back her lips instead, revealing the sharp, uneven fangs. " – You may have one of my blades, Kelly, but your fragility lets you down. I have barely broken a sweat, whereas you.."

Kelly's breaths were ragged, heaving and greedy, shoulders lifting up and down as her grip furiously enclosed around the hilt of the dagger – imperceptible tremors nudging it ever so slight. Sweat beaded her face and exhaustion washed over ever muscle. But still, she stood against Jax-Mon in defiance. Still, she fought.

The Assassin ignored Mox creep over towards Luminița to assist the downed Templar. Nothing in the room mattered but her and her opponent. She dipped her head in an exchange of respect before she flourished her katana and bolted towards the Ranger.

The Elders' craft met the Hunter's work – and both blades sung harmoniously as they clashed in flashing, alien-steel. The two swordsmen danced; with Jax-Mon's steps light and masterful whereas Kelly struggled to keep pace.

Having no intention of a fair duel, Kelly relied on her ability to feint out an attack to press the advantage. Jax-Mon could not predict like her brother, the older, but she was wise to Kelly's unorthodox way of fighting and altered accordingly to each faked movement. Eventually, the Assassin disarmed the Ranger with a deadly strike from the pommel of her blade, bruising her hand. She began to surge forward –

"Vial acquired!"

There was the missing Ranger. He clutched the Blacksite sample triumphantly in his hands and Jax-Mon could hear the soft hum of Skyranger engines somewhere outwards to the facility. Evidently, she had underestimated their pilot's skills, being able to outmaneuver the interceptors and find a blind spot of the artillery.

Mox and Luminița were nowhere in sight, as the former carted the latter off towards the evacuation zone. Kelly too, swiftly abandoned the pretense of fighting Jax-Mon in favour for hauling ass towards the shattered window to make their get-away. The Assassin's gaze descended upon Webnar, whom tensed briefly, offered a cheeky wave and slipped the sample safe into the pocket of his utility belt.

She stormed forward, only pausing to grab her dagger up from the Blacksite's floor, picking up enough speed to a sprint – wincing sharply as the dust from the Skyranger's turbines hailed over her. The Skyranger was awfully close to the ground, enough that the two Rangers jumped aboard by foot rather than rope.

The back of the ship snapped shut when the two got on board and Firebrand twisted the Skyranger in such a way that she intended to take Jax-Mon's head off with the tail end of it if she didn't plaster herself flat to the ground. The transport ship shot off to the sky, leaving her to the emptied Blacksite…

… That promptly set ablaze in an almighty explosion, as Klaus had scurried around, setting as many charges as he could undetected. The Assassin, caught in the blast, screamed her throes of death, the heat of the inferno lukewarm under the disappointment that the Elders indubitably felt over yet another failure.

* * *

"Kelly is shaken. Feng is out of commission for the month, Mox is still addled with an incurable headache from the Skulljack's feedback, Webnar injured his spine and didn't think to tell anyone until he collapsed, Doctor Lovett has been captured and Vaun.."

Bradford's gaze traces the hardened face of Kingsley as he reads off the debrief of the mission report. He knew that look all too well. The despondency. Professionalism shoved to pilot her actions whilst she locked up her grievances in a little box. He saw it twenty years ago and he vowed then never to see it again.

"Dottie.." he started, but it was if the familiarity jilted her to draw further away.

"An unfortunate loss," she echoes. "We will have to do better."

He slammed his fist so hard upon the table that he felt the aftershock run through his hand, but it had the intended effect of jolting the Commander, eyes wide, body tensed and hand hovering over her hip where her pistol always used to lay. She blinked a few times until he was finally able to be eye-to-eye with the Kingsley he called friend.

"For the love of _**God**_ , Dorothy." he scolded. " – You have to let the soldiers grieve!"

Then, gentler, he settled that same hand upon her shoulder, feeling the tense muscle slacken under his touch. "You have to let _yourself_ grieve. Why do you believe that basic human right doesn't apply to you and that you're some, _strategic golem?_ "

Kingsley smiled, which seemed to drain the warmth in the air, tone bitter. " – Because for twenty years _**I was,**_ John. I was nothing but a tool. A non-essential component in the vast machine of the Elders' machinations. I thought I – My subconscious believed Them, you know. That I meant the universe to them. That they actually _loved_ me."

Bradford didn't know if it was his own refusal to believe what she was saying, or if he lacked the understanding. Either way, he gripped her forearms, massaging them gently with his palms as he made sure to look her straight in the eye. "You are not with them any more. You are not a thing, a tool, or whatever they made you feel and you don't have to feel like that any longer."

She looked like she had more to say on the matter, but she held her tongue, her smile waning.

"… We'll hold the funeral in the morning. Posthumorously promote him to the rank of Captain and.. award him with his country's medal of honour. The Polish Cross of Valour, I believe."

Bradford nodded slowly. It was perhaps the biggest breakthrough he'd get out of her in that moment so was content with that outcome.


	27. Sombre

A sombre atmosphere permeated throughout the Avenger, following the military funeral held for Lukas Vaun.

Morale was considerably lowered and the victory at the Blacksite had been ultimately bittersweet. They might have acquired the vial and set the Assassin's plans back potentially weeks whilst she recovered from her death, but at what cost?

A life, potentially two.

Kingsley stared resentfully into her mug of coffee made from dandelion weeds and God knows what else Volk had in his backyard. Either way, she couldn't tell if the tart taste was from the coffee or the disaster of the most recent mission. She wanted to feel more grief than she truthfully had, for the sake of her soldiers, but any time she tried to draw upon her melancholy, she was hit with vacant void instead.

For twenty years she processed lives as nothing more than a tallied number. Her work was to minimize how many of those figures were lost in every mission against the alien threat – well, Resistance threat, but she hadn't known, integrated in their Network. Days like this, spent cooped up in her quarters, did she really feel her age.

Her body ached every waking moment. Tiredness set early and often. She wasn't fit to lead this war at all. Every day the Chosen reminded her that she had the power to end it all by simply returning herself to the Elders. She would say that she never considered it.. but that would be lying. Repulsion lined the top of her stomach as she found herself.. missing, the Elders. To an extent. The comfort, all encompassing warmth they brought when she was nestled in their embrace - the soothing words that ran like a fountain to stroke her ego and calm her nerves.. But she couldn't go back. She couldn't. Her soul begged her not to.

The Warlock spoke at great lengths to her when the other two were not jabbering on about something or other. Always praising his masters and criticizing her choices as she makes them. As if he was in the position to do so, being a petty, prideful peacock of psionic mastery. The Hunter had nothing but sardonic taunts and sideline quips and the Assassin..

Spoke to her with the reverence of a child. Not even a year old – not even six months.

The Commander took a strong sip of the home-brew coffee. She had better things to do than mope around her quarters. Lord knows the Elders won't stop just because of a death.

Approaching the communications computer, she cycled through the various contacts before halting on an obscured one simply known as _John Smith_. The Reapers' paranoia with technology had some stock in it and generally Volk did not share his kin's disposition, but even he didn't want his name and details on display.

In any case, she didn't expect him to answer her summons swiftly. He was fiddling with the camera when the transmission came through, treating her with a view of the cotton fabric of his sweater before he leaned back and offered her a brief smile that dropped all too quickly.

"Commander," he addressed. "I heard what happened at the Blacksite. I didn't know Vaun, but, from what I heard he was a real good lad. I'm sorry."

"We all know what we sign up for when we defect against the aliens." she said. "Lord knows I know that Vaun isn't going to be the only causality. It's a war. Losses are.. an inevitability."

Volk's head bobbed in agreement, though he didn't voice as much. If there was anyone who could appreciate and understand pragmatism, it was him, though it still made her come across as bitter and cynical. He can't say he blames her, he was much the same in far less diplomatic language in the infancy of the Reapers.

He sweeps his hand across the table, wiping it clean of any specks of dust or dirt, clearing his throat to move the topic along. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually." Kingsley drums her fingers on the edges of the terminal in thought. " – Do you have any operatives spare? One of our own got captured by ADVENT. All of my men are recovering and I don't particularly want to wet the new recruits with a covert action deep in enemy territory."

"Has Dragunova not fully recovered?" came his query on the instant, concern worming it's way into the wrinkles of his face.

"She has a few more days of bed rest for the stitches to set, so I'd rather not take my chances."

"Mhm." He leans back, head turning to face someone or something off-screen. The microphone picked up bits of barked Russian. Kingsley patiently waited for Volk to finish and once he did, he returned his attention to her with a small smile.

"I'll send Hornet to have a look around. Expect an answer in the next week." He informs. " – Anything else?"

"No, that's all. I owe you one."

"I'll call it even when you get us our planet back, Commander." the Patriarch stated, with a touch of humour in his voice, though Kingsley straightened at such a comment. The call ended, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

Well, there was little point in delaying it any longer. Bradford mentioned about the surge of new recruits – unfortunately for Lily, none of them engineers – due to their success at the Blacksite. Word was spreading and the Resistance was growing more confident to crawl out of the woodwork and seek more active ways of combating the aliens. They would have finished their orientation by now. All that was left was to meet her.

Kingsley glanced at the mounted mirror in her quarters. Hard, tired features stared relentlessly back. Not an inch of the weakness she truly felt showed through. Satisfied, she headed towards to lift to the barracks.

* * *

To say that Hecate was anxious was the understatement of the century.

She understood plainly why the Network suppressed most emotions. She was shaking, her instinct screamed danger at every thumping sound of metal or passing of a Resistance member and she was pretty sure that her heart had accelerated alarmingly. She'd already had a … what was it called? A _panic attack_ when she found herself taken in by the Skirmishers, but..

To be aboard the Avenger itself, was another beast entirely.

The further she strayed from the Elders and her Chosen, the less likely they would be willing to forgive her. She should have let the teenage kid capture her back in the New Mexico wilderness, because at least she might have then been at ground-level.

Despite herself, the former Priest followed Betos like a duckling. The Battlelord had been initially surprised at the discovery of a Priest free of the Network – thinking it impossible. But unlike her soldiers that expressed a gross mistrust, she had been elated, chattering on about the prospect of more sisters defecting. That there truly was hope for them all.

Hecate hadn't the heart to tell her she was more or less a defect in the eyes of her masters. A regular Priest, when cared for, would never forsake their loyalty – and that even rang true for herself, too. Her feelings for the Assassin hadn't diminished and she would move mountains to ensure she returned to her.

Which is why she sought out the Skirmishers in the first place and agreed to sign up to fight for XCOM. Not that she had any intention of harming her true kin in ADVENT, but if she somehow got in touch with Jax-Mon…

The pride that the Chosen would feel for her warmed Hecate considerably and relaxed her too-tense muscles. Yes, she would be able to do this. For her. Then she would be able to see Fiducia again too. Oh, she missed him terribly. She missed the Assassin just as much. Would they think her corrupt if she wanted to express her compassion – and love?

But now she was expected to find a new family among these rowdy humans. Her eyes cast down the neat line of the other rookies. No amount of searching their faces with her psionic energy would suddenly spark the Network to provide her with information. Just her own thoughts rattled in the empty, silent void of her mindspace.

Only one of them noticed her staring and once he did, offered a small half-formed grin in acknowledgement. His soul reminded her of a lion; with a bright light that burned with a fire than a flicker. She didn't return the smile, not knowing he had gave one and snapped her gaze back to the centre of the room – breath held when the Commander entered with the Central Officer beside her.

Hecate gasped softly under her breath, feeling the striking, weighty energy that radiated from her. So clearly eldritch and familiar to her masters. She had never known the Commander as a _person_ , only a base of information to draw upon and now here she stood: emotive and alive… and so quickly _dying_. Did she know that her life ebbed away at the second? She must've.

She supposed it would've been rude to mention it. What was she to do when put before such a figure? Genuflect? Prostrate? The other lights and the hazy humanoid shapes that made up her sight of them didn't budge, so she too remained still.

"These are the soldiers I spoke to you about, Commander." Betos told from somewhere behind Hecate. The former Priest tensed sharply when the Battelord's hand rested amicably on her shoulder, her other gesturing down the line of three other recruits.

" – They were stalwart defenders of the haven of Perth, but found a new purpose in your battle against the false Gods. This one especially, a Priest in a previous life, proves that humanity is being heard and listened to even in the highest echelons of the Elders' grip. They will follow you, Commander."

"Even till death?" Kingsley intones. Hecate still remembered, albeit a bit more foggily now, the same tone drone in her mind from the tactical database. The Commander looks between each and every gathered soldier before it rested on Hecate. It was as if the Commander pierced her very being with her eyes, dissecting her true intentions even if she couldn't possibly have known them.

"Ah, we're all gonna die someday." the lion-hearted one spoke with a thick Scottish brogue. "At least this way, we're takin' down as many of the ADVENT bastards as possible whilst we're doing it."

Hecate didn't like him.

"You'll be surprised at how quickly that opinion can change in war, Rookie Clacher. We don't have the luxury of simply forgetting how precious we truly find life, especially when you're staring at the end of a gun's muzzle on the night of an execution." The air seemed a lot colder, then and Hecate got the impression the Commander was smiling blackly. " – Welcome to XCOM."

* * *

Pain.

All Dawn Lovett could feel was _pain_.

There was a blinding light situated above her and an intense coldness of hard metal under her. She concluded from those facts alone that she certainly wasn't in the Avenger's infirmary. One by one, her wits began to return to her, enough that she attempted to open her eyes. That proved to be a costly mistake as a burning sharp sting lanced across her eyeballs from the light.

Tightly screwing them shut, she tried rousing her still-sleeping muscles awake, only to find that she couldn't move at all. A brewing panic bubbled in the pit of her stomach, but the rational part of her tried to soothe her rising alarm. If she had just awoken from some sort of coma, or fainting spell, then she couldn't expect to be jumping up and doing cartwheels.

When she was certain that opening her eyes wasn't going to burn them, she tried again, taking in the brightness of the room, gaze darting side to side. A table with surgical tool lay to her left, with device that looked too alien for her to determine what it's purpose was. Her right was empty. Looking down on herself, she was at least provided with some standard-issue white ADVENT slacks, but that only confirmed the worst.

She had been captured.

_Okay_ , she thinks slowly, drawing in a quiet, calming breath and wincing. It felt like her ribs were still bruised. It hurt to even look around, but she persevered. _What was the last thing that happened?_

She strained to recall the memories before her blackout. They were about to breach through the front of the Blacksite when a Stun Lancer stormed through the entrance and targeted her. She remembered fighting him off, the heat of a fully powered baton and – then blackness. Right, the electrical current of the baton must have knocked her out.

Nothing after that. Nothing between the time she felt the baton pierce through her kevlar and now. Dawn tried moving her hands to no avail, glancing towards them to find them bound to the table. It wouldn't do her stomach any favours, but if she didn't know any better … she would think she was in an operating room.

Swallowing thickly, she tried struggling against the binds. They were metal and bolted to the table itself, so they didn't look like they were going to give way any time soon. The other alternative was to try and fidget her wrist around to try and slip her hand out, but the cuffs were tight enough that they might as well cut her circulation. They didn't, thankfully.

Just as she was about to assess how tightly the binds on her ankles were, as well as blatantly ignore her mounting fear of the situation, the double doors in front of her opened. Her eyes widened in fright, before she forced a cool facade of calm to her face.

The white-and-grey armour of the ADVENT Medic was a unit Dawn had saw quite often during her work under the alien's rule. It wasn't a time she was proud of at all, but like all scientists, she had been dazzled with the promise of knowledge and end of disease. She had gotten out of the regime early enough that she hadn't needed to suffer the horrors her associate had, but she distinctly recall her own grievances in working towards creating a gene therapy clinic.

She jerked her head when his hands came into view to handle it, grunting as the back of her skull thumped against the metal table she was bound to. He muttered something disapprovingly to her, grabbing her chin roughly to examine her pupils. She contemplated biting the fingers that came close enough to her lips, but resolved that it would be pointless and wholly undignified.

After a brief examination, followed by a check on the datapad, he gestured towards the doors again. Dawn bristled. She had been both a patient and a doctor, but she never let anyone under her care feel like some _thing_ under a microscope like this Medic did.

The doors opened to reveal a man – well, an alien really – who's mere presence was enough for her to reflexively draw bile to the back of her throat.

"The long arm of the law has _finally_ caught up with you, my dear." purred Speaker Ishmael, a glittering smile of straight white teeth set, flanked by two Officers that seemed to be his bodyguards. Of all the people she made enemies of, why, for the love of the higher powers that be, did it have to be _him_ that came to interrogate her?

He oozed _smugness_ , enough that it made the unfortunate captive wrinkle her nose in detestation. He approached the empty side, hands clasped behind his back and smile sharpening viciously under his burning, _victorious_ glare. "Oh, the very people you preached were better have _abandoned_ you, just like I said they would. When have I _ever_ been wrong?"

"Don't even tempt me with a question like **that**." muttered Dawn. Her … _history_ , with the ADVENT Speaker predated her service to XCOM. It wasn't a pretty one and it was steeped full of regrets she'd rather not dwell on, even if her mind helpfully did so anyway. So many hours _wasted_ believing she actually made a difference speaking against him.

In the end, all her speeches, all of her life's work on the ethical principals that ADVENT violated fell on the deaf ears of the docile public. He allowed her to witness the futility of her actions until issuing the order for the Network chip. If she hadn't escaped back then..

Well, she wouldn't be bound to an operating table being leered over by her ADVENT tormentors, that's for sure. She'd be in some cushy job at the clinic, working with her fellow scientific peers and protected by her very own issued guard. Not to mention her relationship with …

Dawn was glad she escaped.

"You used to be a _respectable,_ smart man, Ishmael." she scolded. To hell with appearances, she didn't care that years-worth of bitterness seeped into her tone. " – Even if you didn't agree to my proposal of ethics, you wouldn't have stooped so low as to torture!"

"It _is_ quite ghastly." he agreed soothingly, a perfected mask of pity lowering his eyes and dropping his grin. He stepped closer to the table, head dipping towards her own so that he may soften his voice and tone. Dawn huffed, hating the way it made it so her gaze assuredly landed on his face, no matter how much she tried to look around him.

"Which is why we don't _**have**_ to commence with such.. _unpleasant_ business. You only need to tell me what we wish to know and I _**promise**_ ," he stressed the word, trying to pool as much sincerity into it as possible. Dawn knew better than to believe him, of all people. " – I will make sure no harm befalls you."

"Your promises are as empty as your soul." she hissed.

Ishmael's lips twitched imperceptibly at her defiance, his face impossible to read. He leaned back, smoothing a hand through his jet black hair. "Is that your final answer, Doctor? After all you have been through, don't you deserve some peace?"

"Trouble in paradise, Speaker?"

Dawn made a soft noise of fear in the back of her throat as the figure of the Chosen Hunter stood in a casual recline at the doorway, marking her as one of the first humans to see him _in person,_ with all the hanging promises of death _that_ entailed. He dismisses the rest of the ADVENT personnel with a half-hearted wave of disregard, stalking into the room as an imposing, impending threat.

He … looked like his sister, the Assassin, actually. Although he was mostly obscured in shadow, she caught the malice alight in twin, purple eyes and the lack of marking that trailed his face. No, his face was smooth, with ridges on his high cheekbones. If the Reapers' word were true: nobody lived to tell the tale of their meeting with this particular Chosen.

Dhag-Mai didn't really spare the medic much more than a passing glance. In fact, he acted as if she wasn't even there as his attention settled on Ishmael instead. His lanky arms folded in front of him and Dawn notes reluctantly that he was armed to the teeth with survivalist knives, a sidearm that was big enough to be a hand cannon for a human and an all too large rifle on his back.

"You seem well, my Chosen." the Speaker stated. Dawn was close enough to him to hear the veiled edge in his tone – guarded and careful. " – I was not expecting to see you at all."

"Yes, unfortunately… my _adorable_ little sister – " He couldn't have spoken with more spite even if he tried; " – has gotten herself killed failing to protect the Blacksite. Now, since I'm such a _good_ brother, I thought I'd pop over to handle her prisoner."

He swept his gaze over Dawn and her body stiffened under the raw hatred that burned behind the thin facetious facade. It only lasted a second, if that, but she felt as though he'd dissected every inch of her and memorized any detail he'd consider important.

"I don't think your sister would appreciate that, Dhag-Mai." Ishmael mildly pointed out. He wasn't capable of denying a Chosen of their whims unless it directly went against the Elders' own word, but he had his position to advise and his own personal affairs with the medic aside – it just wasn't a good idea to leave her alone with the temperamental, fickle Hunter, who very well could simply kill her for the sake of spiting the Speaker.

"Nonsense! We've smoothed over our differences. She even said ' _Wow, Dhag-Mai, you_ _totally appeal_ _to my sense of honour and you're_ _my favourite brother!_ ' or something to that effect." He dismissed his concerns, lip curling in a fanged grin. " – I've already made the effort to come over here anyway. You understand, don't you, Ishmael?"

It was like icy fingers tightening over her soul. Dawn released a shaky sigh under her breath, shooting the Speaker with a glance that bordered on a plea. Whilst her chances of living were slim with either jailer, she rated it significantly higher under him over the Hunter. Ishmael's lips merely pressed into a thin, hard line, before that forced, charming smile broke over.

"Of course, my Chosen. As you will."

Her heart shattered in defeat.

" _Good_ …" the Hunter drawled, pleased with getting his own way. The Speaker bowed his head in respect towards him, exchanged an almost _apologetic_ glance to Dawn before stepping away to leave her to the Devil himself.

"I'm not going to tell you anything." she blurted out once the doors had shut in finality. She figured being upfront about it would speed her to her demise, rather than have it drawn out as painfully as possible. Dhag-Mai remained absorbed in himself, muttering something under his breath that even a polyglot like her couldn't discern the language and rummaging in one of his many utility pockets.

His fingers curl around her chin to steady her head and she cringes at how clammy his touch was. Feverishly hot, to the point of ice-cold. He inspects something and draws out a thin, pronged tube, etched with symbols she could only hope to decipher. His height more than easily allowed him to lean over and pluck the alien device from the tray of tools to her left.

"Don't worry," he mocked. "I have no intentions of hurting you – "

He pauses when his eye catches sight of something, turning her head towards him to spy a lengthy stitched, faded scar that traveled the length of her neck imprecisely, the arteries missed. Her heart hammered against her bruised ribs, blood pounding in her ears.

" – although I see you're no stranger to pain, my interests are more practical than wasting time torturing you for intel. You humans are far too fragile anyway. Die way too quickly before the fun even starts!"

"You're _insane_." said Dawn with flat realization.

He hummed contemplatively as he loaded the tube into the alien device and offered her a grin. " – Is that your _professional_ _opinion_ , Doctor?"

She recalled, suddenly, what the purpose of that alien tool was – and the surge of fear elicited a soft chuckle from the Chosen as he activated it. Her struggles against the metal binds intensified as he pinched her nose. Eventually, she'd have to open her mouth in order to breathe and once she did, he forced his thumb in-between her teeth to keep it pried open.

"I might've told a _little_ lie." he murmured, gesturing with his eyes to the alien tool used to insert the cranial chips. But instead of a chip, it was a object of his own making – who knows what the purpose of it was. "This is going to hurt. A lot."


	28. Vim

_Daughter_.

In the vast stretch of incomprehensible void, Jax-Mon retreated into herself, curling in a ball. Or at least, she thought she did. The Elders' voice was ubiquitous, filling every dark spot in the expanse with their toneless song. She knew she had failed. The gasping, writhing pain inflicted on her brother when faced with their masters' wrath played at the forefront of her mind. Any moment, she expected to be smote just the same.

 _Daughter_. They coo again and she whimpers. Their dense psionic energy washed over her, like a collapsing star, but instead of threatening to crush her under the pressure, it coaxes instead. Soft, gently waves lap over her body. It's not a matter of how they would get her to open up: simply a question of when. The voice sounds closer to her and in her keen senses, she can hear the love pour out of every word.

 _Do not be afraid of Us._ They seem so distraught at the idea that Their true child – any of Their children – would fear Them so. Jax-Mon's defenses lower and she sobs quietly once she was drawn into Their infinite embrace, her hands clawing so feverishly in the great dark to bury and cling onto. Nothing tangible she could ever grab a hold of, but her energy leached off of Theirs once They allowed it.

"I f-failed you. I've disappoint you. I – I …" the Assassin choked in between her open display of pouring grief. The Elders let her to express this, if only just for this one, finite moment. "– I am _useless_ to you like this, Mother. An emotional failure that has strayed from your divine given purpose.."

 _That is not your place to decide, Daughter. We determine if you have failed Us or not. We have other Blacksites – and other vials. Our plans have not been stopped. Quite the contrary …_ The Elder known as Mother stalled and Jax-Mon relished in the warmth and light of a smile lilting Her psi-voice. _Our plans continue to move forward._

Placated, the Assassin drops her head on what might've been considered to be the Elders' chest, eyes drifting closed, replacing black with black. They still leaked with awful, salty tears, but she refused to wipe them away. It was only fitting her shame stayed to remind her of her weakness. There was so much she wanted to ask and question Them about like a curious child to the world at large, but..

To question Them was to doubt Them. She nuzzled into the enveloped embrace; murmuring so quietly her voice was barely a whisper. "– Are you angry with me…?"

 _Oh, sweet_ _D_ _aughter,_ They cooed. _Know that We only become angry because We care._ _Know that all of Our actions, no matter what they are, have always been out of love. Never forget that._ _ **Never**_ _._

Jax-Mon took Their word as holy law and found peace within it. Her shattered resolve returned, mended by Their mere presence. She understood then that the anger They feel towards her and her siblings' misgivings was justified and did not mean that They stopped loving them. Even Dhag-Mai, the so called ' _corrupt child_ ', was adored just as lovingly as her.

She will give Them reason to praise her.

"What would you have me do once I recover, masters?"

The Elders hummed softly and the noise softly wrapped around her like gentle, passing silk. Like the wind that breezed past the bending reeds and softly graced her than against her. She forced her eyes, startling purple glossy with tears, up to the tangible presence of Them.

 _We are … beside Ourselves to know that the Commander's life wanes. She must be returned to Our grasp soon, or We fear it will be too late_. Their attention fell upon Jax-Mon and she basked in Their gaze. _We can only trust_ you _to accomplish this, Daughter. Only_ you _deserve to rule this planet of Earth in Our stead._

Despite her agreement to Their sentiments, she wonders, acutely, if the Elders told the exact same to her brothers. A sharp lucidity washes over her as her restoration nears it's completion and she no longer seeks Their full warmth like a babe. She straightens out of Their grasp – _only because They_ _ **allow**_ _her to withdraw_ – silent at her intrusive thought.

 _Daughter_ , Their address comes with a sharp warning, having perceived this. But Jax-Mon merely bows her head low and reverently.

"Far too long I have played reactive to their movements." she informs. "It is time I prepare a strike against them."

 _Cull all whom stand in your way._ The Elders whispered encouragingly, brimming with a malice that often seen amalgamation in the form of her older brother. _Slay all who dare oppose Us. This is what you were made for, Child. Only the Commander needs to survive. Now go. Begone from this void and back to your duties._

Her soul felt a great tug rapidly, her whole being experiencing a vertigo as the void fills with the details of her inner sanctum. Her body becomes real; her thoughts now solidly her own and life takes shape within her. She draws a quick breath, staring awestruck at the biomechanical architecture of her sanctuary and feeling the reverberation of her sarcophagus deep in the pit of her chest.

Jax-Mon flexes her fingers, each one, both thumbs. Leaving the great beyond into the reality of Earth was always an … event, for her consciousness. It took more than a moment to adjust before her keen senses caught up with a perception of time and she begun to process things around her. She wet her lips, slowly easing herself to stand. Her balance was deep ingrained into her as instinct and held her perfectly as she took a few tentative first steps.

Unlike her previous deaths, this time she felt renewed. She was invigorated – filled to the brim with enough energy to slay a God, if she so chose! The Assassin felt her newfound strength, having drawn from the Elders themselves. Perhaps she could even take both her siblings on in a fight.

Siblings …

It would make her plan of attack far easier if she had their assurance that they would not interfere when she takes the fight directly to XCOM. Indubitably, she fully prepared to be sabotaged by her older with either the silent, non-partisan of their elder _or_ directly supporting him. But if she included them –

Jax-Mon did not want to depend on them. That sort of power, once given, was insidious to take back. Elders knew Dhag-Mai would lord it until the end of time and Dhag-Il's arrogance already thinks him responsible. But.. she may not have a choice, in the end. If she could convince them to see beyond their pettiness to the goal at hand, then they could squabble when the Commander was secured in her stasis suit, hooked up to the Network.

She would deal with them when the time arose. First order of business was to check with her defense captain if her idea of a direct assault could even be accomplished.

Naturally, she found the captain monitoring the control room. Most of his orders were issued through the Network and required nothing more than thought, but the base's defenses were connected more locally to avoid flooding the main server's Codex. He offered her a salute once she entered, though deigned to remain seated. As he said, he performed his duties admirably, despite the clear longing he still felt for his missing, "traitorous" bondmate.

"Captain," the Assassin began, joining him at the side and folding her arms, eyes scanning the various monitors that streamed with data. " – What is our current state of anti-aircraft warfare?"

Fiducia stalled, even if requesting the information from the Network was returned in the same second he'd asked of it. He wasn't expecting such a question, but answered nonetheless, using a separate terminal to illustrate the data as he speaks;

"Lacking, my Chosen." he admits. "At least the conventional air defense of below-stratosphere crafts. The major facilities have been equipped with anti-aircraft artillery, but they are designed to shoot down smaller interceptors and transport ships, roughly to a Skyranger's size. We do have a few alien crafts in our reserves designed for dogfighting, but – the humans have never taken kindly to seeing what they call ' _UFOs._ ' - It would likely cause a panic."

"How would they fare against a ship like the Avenger?"

The defense captain brought up the craft in question – or at least, the unmodified supply ships that closely resembled it. He gestured around the back end of the ship. "The artillery wouldn't put a dent into the Avenger's defense – and that's just assuming no modifications have been made to it's shield. One of ours might be able to disable it and ground it temporarily, but.."

He bows his head sheepishly and apologetically. " – That'd require permission from the Elders themselves. They have command of the interceptors. Additionally, we'd have to construct some sort of.. device to generate electromagnetic pulses to keep the Avenger on the ground once it was shot out of the sky."

Jax-Mon drummed her fingers on her biceps in thought, gaze shifting to the half-covered file of the artillery identical to the one at the Blacksite. "I see. What if I wanted to construct artillery designed to keep the Avenger grounded _permanently_?"

"That would take a **_very_ ** powerful cannon." he stated, lips twitching in a half-formed smile until he could see that _yes_ , the Assassin was _entirely_ serious about her idea. Fiducia cleared his throat; " – And likely a new design to our current weaponry."

She grunted, displeased. The last project that required Fiducia to step outside his field of expertise – which was more or less simply recreating preexisting designs on the Network – added a week onto the development time and that was on a _grenade_. She couldn't imagine how long it would take for him to blueprint a triple-A.

The solution was obvious, really. Perhaps she would have to deal with the issue of her lovely brothers earlier than she'd like.

The defense captain felt the irritable vibes that slipped past Jax-Mon's control and he could guess the source of them, offering a brief, albeit short lived sympathetic regard. He tried to ease the idea in gently, watching his words with caution.

"If I may speak freely.."

Jax-Mon's eyes rolled skyward. "How many times must you ask for permission when I have given you such free reign, Fiducia?"

"Every time, my Chosen. It is a humbling reminder." But he takes her point. " – The Chosen Hunter may not be the most.. _reliable_ , but when it concerns armaments, he **will** deliver. If there is anything he detests, it is sloppy work. I dare not presume, but … he may like the challenge."

She nods begrudgingly. Her dagger and Arashi were proof of the Hunter's gumption. Her hopes remained low, but she did entertain the possibility of a project like this bringing the two closer together as true siblings. Especially once it was complete, he would no doubt like to see his work in action. That left the Warlock to deal with.

Even if she completely ignored him, he'd know where they were. Two Chosen's signatures in convergence with one another was _**never**_ a good sign, but on this occasion, Jax-Mon mulled over the prospect of working together. Settling territories could have been catastrophic had Dhag-Mai's fickleness got the better of him or if Dhag-Il resented her for denouncing him.

But it wasn't. It worked out, somewhat cordially. Could she trust them long enough to assault the Avenger itself?

Jax-Mon despised that she was of two minds regarding her brothers. They had done nothing but prove to her what she already knew, so why, Elders above, why, did she cling on to some desperate hope that it will simply be different the next time? Was this humanity's curse on her – an inability, or self-denial over hard facts and evidence when it concerned _family_?

The Assassin pushes herself away from the terminal, intending to saunter out to find her older brother.

* * *

Nina Babić had no intention of putting her full effort into tracking the whereabouts of the CMT.

She'll waste a few days lingering around the Black Market so her presence was known if Volk – _or Outrider_ , she thinks with a sneer – tries to validate her sources and then spend the rest of the week killing ADVENT at the borders. Had it been any other Resistance member, she might've put more than a cursory thought into the operation but..

She'd read the Reapers' files on _Doctor Lovett._ Little miss preacher of ethics and human rights. She wondered how many of those political ' _debates_ ' were conducted in the Speaker's bedroom and scoffed lowly. She knew better than to buy into the clandestine past of the former ADVENT scientist. Her only annoyance was that it seemed everyone else was _fooled_.

"They'll see I'm right," she muttered to herself, stepping over a felled tree. From her analysis of the Blacksite operation – Lovett got Vaun killed. Obviously the Lancer's attack was nothing more than for her to save face, so that she could escape with her alien cohorts without rousing suspicion from the dithering old sod of a Commander.

"Utter joke," she knelt beside a patch of inconspicuous leafs, running her fingers through them and trying to find the marks that Dragunova was able to use to find the Black Market of this particular region. She knew it wouldn't be as big as the main storefront, but she needed a place to kick back and not be bothered in and for her whereabouts to be confirmed.

She regretted not paying attention, because either the Market had moved, or they really had covered their tracks well.

Pursing her lips behind her half-mask, she crawled over towards a sturdy tree with a grotto hidden over by forest debris. She plunged her hand in – and yanked back in startled alarm when it seemed to be a nest of ants that now marched scattered all around the roots of the trees and the floor itself. Grimacing, she flicked her hand of any insects that still lingered on her glove.

Maybe it was a little more well-hidden than she was giving it credit for.

As Nina moved to stand up, her entire body tensed and froze over as a rifle's muzzle poked the back of her head. She scrunched her eyes tightly shut in quiet, controlled fear, forcing herself to unclench her hands as a show of submission as the rifle pushed forward to rest against her skull and the taunting voice sounded directly behind her.

"Bang."

It was only until she felt the weight alleviate from the back of her head did she turn to regard the Chosen Hunter, eyes sharp in disapproval at his playfulness and very much aware that the slightest misstep would have her six feet under. Her shoulders squared and she huffed, nonetheless, as he slid the Darklance back against his spine.

Speaking _of_ Doctor Lovett, now that she swept her gaze over him, the medic seemed to be tucked under his arm. Nina might've thought her dead, if it wasn't for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Nina met his eyes and rose a brow. Well, that solved the mystery of where the doctor was.

"I thought we agreed that Mox's capture was the _**last**_ time we'd meet like this." she hissed, gaze surreptitiously darting around the forest, as if the Market's gunrunners were going to pop up out of nowhere and catch her cloak-and-dagger conversation. Dhag-Mai didn't seem to care much for subtlety or subterfuge, if it was her reputation that was on the line. " – Volk would crucify me if he knew!"

"We did? I don't seem to remember that," he innocently intoned, adjusting his grip of the unconscious CMT, holding her not unlike one hauling a sack of potatoes. "It's hardly _**my**_ problem if you get caught by the old dog. Are you growing a conscience? You'll become **boring** to me then and.. well, you don't want that."

Nina sucked in a sharp breath, but hesitated to contest with him. It wasn't a matter of conscience or morality – she had her way of dealing with the aliens that simply involved co-operating with one of them that shared just as loose regard for them as she did – but she still cared for those whom she considered true to the cause, if a little misguided or blind.

Instead, she settled gruffly on; " – What do you want?"

"No time for pleasantries, Hornet? I'm hurt. Wounded. How will I ever recover from such heartlessness." His gaze lazily falls to the medic in his arms, promptly tossing the CMT like a ragdoll at Hornet. She let out a blundering splutter of mixed expletives, plastered to the floor with the dead weight on top of her. The Hunter's lips curl back into a dogged grin.

" – You're looking for her, aren't you? Don't say I never did anything kind. I just saved you a lot of work."

The rogue Reaper grumbled in Russian under her breath regarding something about the Hunter and where he could shove his Darklance, half worming herself out from under Dawn and pushing her off. Now freed, she reluctantly plucks her from the ground and carefully rests her against her shoulders, supported. As much as she'd like to simply drag her by her ankles, the Commander likely wouldn't be happy for the state of her.

"Unfortunately." she murmured. "What's the catch?"

"All that you need to do is make sure she is safely returned to the Avenger. If I found out she died on the way back, I'll be very unhappy." the Hunter paused, humming to himself. " – and the first sign of movement from my sister, I want to know about it."

"I told you," she groused. "Mox was – "

Nina flinched when he stepped closer and she knowingly backed away, regardless of how much her pride snarled at the thought of subservience. The plain fact was that he was still the enemy at the end of the day – and the moment he deemed her purpose fulfilled, or useless, then he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. She hated being aware of that fact, of being disposable, but she willingly put up with his self-serving arrogance for the sake of the war on a whole.

He held his grin, but it was far more glacial; despite the fire in his eyes. " – Yes and _you don't have a choice._ Be grateful that you're useful to me. That's a lot more than what I can say for the entirety of humanity."

She made a non-committal grunt. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she took measures to ensure the surrounding area was clear before stalking off into the forest with the medic in tow. Nina didn't know why the Hunter had Dawn, or what he'd done to her. Frankly, she didn't care if she lived or died, but for the sake of living tomorrow, she'd have to ensure that she lived long enough to serve whatever purpose of Dhag-Mai's.

* * *

"Commander, I apologize for the state of disarray. I did not realize how reliant I had become on our sole scientist until she was – gone. If – ahem, excuse me – _**when**_ , she is brought back into our care, I will strongly urge her to start digitally recording her work. It is, if nothing else, a reminder of how dependent we have become on technology."

Kingsley eyed the paper files that littered the deck and terminals of the research department. She knew Dawn had a penchant for keeping paperbacks of all her reports, but evidently she hadn't realized how utterly chaotic it was until Tygan had been forced to go through her notes. Despite his state of frazzled exasperation, he kept a level of stoic professionalism that superseded all.

"Dare I ask what all of this is about?"

He gestured to the unkempt stack of files by his work table, several of them sticking out unevenly or littering the floor below. Kingsley only needed a passing glance to confirm that the text on the documents were just as frantic as Tygan's organizational skills.

"These are all of my associates notes on the command chip pulled from you, Commander. I thought there may have been a correlation between that and the Blacksite. As it stands, I am no more closer to solving what lies in the sample recovered by our team than Lily is to cracking the Codex's cortex."

As if on cue, the aforementioned engineer exploded in a series of curses that her father most definitely would not approve of. Kingsley glanced around Tygan to see her stooped over the cortex in question, monitor alight with incomprehensible gibberish and a smoking, deactivated ROV-R. She picked up her wrench, as if threatening to smash the head, before she drew in a slow, calming breath.

"Hey, Commander." she threw over her shoulder, settling the wrench down and eyeballing the jumbled, glitched graphics on screen. " – I thought maybe since we had a piece of the alien's Network, we could directly interface with it. With.. uh, I guess you could call it _administrative access_."

"I'm sensing a ' _but_ ' here." Kingsley prompted gently.

"But," Lily adds, "Mox might've been onto something when he said we require a more organic approach. Not even our ship's computer, which is alien in technology, can process whatever the Codex is sending out. So we're probably going to have to Skulljack a Codex when it's alive at some point."

She glanced towards the older woman. Despite whatever grievances she held regarding her decision with the pods at the Blacksite; when it came to work, her personal feelings were barely a thought. " – Well, I say ' _alive_ ', but these things are a quantum physicist's wet dream. If we had some sort of specialist chamber to really start cracking into these things – and to study the substance in the vial, we might actually make some headway into our projects."

"I understand. We need to seriously upgrade." Kingsley's mind raced. They had supplies, thanks to the success, garnering them more support, but they lacked any sort of available hands to make this proposed chamber of Lily's into a reality. But she supposed there was no harm done in getting a design out there, until she was able to recruit the staff they required.

"Speaking of the Skulljack, had anything survived from it ... ?" she mused and Tygan latched onto her thought process immediately. They had been at their wits end, but a prompt in the right direction had the light-bulb in their mind snap on.

"I _was_ able to gain more information about how the chip interfaces biomechanically by observing the Skulljack process, especially now considering we have to account for these Codices. Some snippets of internal data did indeed survive on the virus itself that have yet to be **fully** examined. With better understanding, I may be able to scrutinize these distinctly more alien projects through – "

" – A synthetic interface to speak to the Network, one that can actually support the machine language!" Lily murmurs, eyes flashing in a spark of inspiration that her scientific counterpart no doubt shared. "We can directly ask, with the Codex's clearance level, what is in the vial! Oh, this could _work_."

"This has become a top priority." Kingsley agreed, watching the excitement grow in the engineer. " – I assume you have a name for it already?"

"Yes, Commander. I dub it.." Lily announced: " _The Shadow Chamber_."


	29. Regicide

Turning up into Dhag-Mai's stronghold unannounced with the intention of forcing him out of hiding wasn't going to work a second time. Jax-Mon suspected he may have either relocated the stronghold.. _somehow_ , or dampened the amount of psionic power that resonated from within. She, even with her Elder-given senses, could not detect where his crypt lay.

Additionally, the Priest steward that seemed to be the sole caretaker could not be contacted, even through meticulously combing of the Network to find her specimen number. She did not know why the Speaker or the Elders themselves allowed the Hunter to tamper with his own files or anything linked to him, but if she knew her brother, then he'd wheedle his own way.

Simply waiting and hoping he'd find a reason to come visit her simply wasn't an option – and neither was seeking him herself. So she would have to forge a reason that would entice him or at the very least strike his curiosity to investigate.

She may have inadvertently found one. When searching through the Network, Jax-Mon stumbled across some interesting files pertaining to some known issues that was buried under protocol and low priority server actions. An old genetics lab of the Elders had been abandoned fairly early on in the ADVENT administration as they moved away from experimenting on their own alien subjects, becoming utterly entranced by the genetic possibility of humans.

They'd always been testing, of course, but human DNA provided the Ethereals a much larger berth of a playground than say, a Viper. The early iterations of their ' _Thin Men_ ' design, before the inclusion of human genetics, were proof of that particular alien's limits. At least, to Their infinite mind and spinning wheel.

However to one wanting to look _**before**_ the time of the modifications, to the visceral, primal state, the abandoned lab was a mad scientist's goldmine. Such was the cautionary tale of Doctor Moira Vahlen, one of the Commander's initial companions. Her understanding of human and alien genetics were uncanny enough that the Elders had assigned the _Hunter_ to capture her alive.

Either it was a job that he'd yet to complete because of laziness and spite or true hunting, Jax-Mon didn't know. She wasn't concerned about Doctor Vahlen. He would only feel as if his territory was encroached if she took it upon herself to find the good doctor, but the experiments she toyed with, left behind to terrorize any and everyone in their state of raw, animalistic rage were open season.

There was, in those vast amount of Network orders and priorities, a doctrine to try and detain the species in a hope to engineer some docility into them, or simply a method of control. The subjects were stronger than their heavily tinkered counterparts and the upgraded arsenal that the scientist gave them … for whatever reason, could be assimilated into their current armoury.

But **_killing_ ** one of them might win favour with Dhag-Mai, whom would approve of such ' _rule breaking_.' It only occurred to her that she hadn't yet earned his respect. Jax-Mon begrudgingly admitted to herself (and only to herself) that she wasn't exactly forthcoming towards her older. Not that she'd ever excuse his meddling and his duplicitous plots, but her honour demanded that she eliminate her faults with him.

She will, as the humans say, kill two birds with one stone. Complete one of the Network's objectives and lure her fickle brother in with the prospect of a nice new centrepiece for his lodge.

Out of the three specimens, she settled on slaying the Viper King.

Whilst there was grounds to assassinate the other two, it was the Viper male that was causing the most _present_ problems. The Archon King seemed satisfied to rule over his growing following of deity-like servants, being a God among Gods – and the Berserker Queen hadn't been spotted at all. Potentially nursing young, if she followed in the Viper's instinct. The gestation period for Berserker runts were a lot more taxing and painful than the quantity that the snake-like aliens could spawn at.

In any case, the King was living reason as to why most males had either been genetically dummied out, or simply made to be sterile. The latter was the case for Ishmael and other " _improved_ " Thin Men acting as politicians, spokesmen or human faces to interact with the public. The moment the King was able to, he sought out to create a breeding ground, all of which had made the population boom. The dark, dank abandoned laboratory made for excellent conditions to incubate the eggs and the search patrols or ADVENT death squads gave them enough sustenance.

Jax-Mon stood at the foot of the lab's entrance, eyes darting across to the skulls mounted on stakes, the unnatural ice formations that crept up the metal walls, as well as cover the floor with a thin sheet. She wasn't afraid of slipping – her balance was perfect, as it was built to be – but the extreme cold that she could feel pierce through the tight armour suit and thin under layer might be a problem.

This will help her condition her body. Thankfully, her natural regeneration made it impossible for her to suffer any sort of pneumonia or frostbite, but that didn't make the awaiting, cavernous-like lab any more inviting. She exhaled, the hot air of her breath forming a cloud of condensation that puffed in front of her. Every breath drawn felt like the ice was clawing at her lungs.

She reached towards her belt, unclipping the half-mask made from the same material as her suit. It slotted over the lower half of her face and connected with the ends of the helmet she'd never taken off since emerging from the cloning tank. The cold air was filtered, allowing her to breathe unobstructed.

Donning the psionic shroud would be useless. Already a thin layer of rime had begun to coalesce on the surface of her armour and there was only so much she could hide from sight. A walking figure of ice or speckled with snow didn't make for a conspicuous infiltration.

She stepped forth – too light and careful to crunch the ice beneath her boot – keeping her eyes peeled for the elusive male. There were several frozen corpses that littered just further in, hunched over, partially digested around broken and inert equipment. From what she could tell when passing them, most wore a scientific coat with maybe one or two sporting basic kevlar; their rifles hidden under drifts of snow.

Something flashed green in the corner of her eye and she honed in on it. Buried beneath scattered files and smashed plastic debris lay a relatively intact data pad with a pre-recorded message on. Jax-Mon knew it wasn't for her, but she approached the pad and activated it, nonetheless.

There was a fit of coughing that the microphone managed to pick up, before a voice filtered through. " _– Testing.. System dictation … This is Dr. M. Vahlen, initial entry. It has taken me longer than I care to admit, but the secondary power system is finally operational, enough so I can finally move onto more … compelling, work_."

Jax-Mon deduced that the log must have been dated the first time Vahlen had came across the derelict genetics lab. She could see several entries marked on the pad and carefully picked it up, gently clipping it to her belt so that she can listen on the move.

The caverns were eerily silent, save for the staccato of Vahlen's recorded voice and the drops of water trickling from the icy stalactites. The Assassin drew her katana, turning her wrist and having the blade's edge point to the ground as she advanced cautiously. Her senses screamed that she was being watched by thousands of eyes, but even with her sight, it was not like her older brother's – there were hundreds of places creatures could hide, from vents, to mounds of snow and large, boulders and dirt unaffected by the indoor blizzard's reach.

The Assassin crouched behind what looked to be the remains of a shipping crate re-purposed, the metal lanced with chill in spiraling patterns that crept up like ivy around the container. The data-pad automatically loaded the next log to play once the first had finished.

" _While attempting to salvage materials from what appeared to be a totally inert storage system, I made an astonishing discovery. A single cryostasis unit remained intact and occupied._ " Vahlen's voice seemed to flooded with awe – and rising excitement. " _This.. changes everything._ "

" _With three unique viable embryos recovered from the surviving cryostasis unit, I now have a rare opportunity – one that was taken away from me during my time at XCOM. I am free to pursue a research directive of my own choosing_."

She continues, rather erratically. " _– Commander Kingsley, albeit foolish, did indeed see the brilliance of my reasoning towards the numbered days of our end. If only she had understood at the beginning, we may have stood a chance! But my work shall speak for itself when I am done."_

Now, _that_ was a side of the Commander that Jax-Mon never knew. Kingsley's desperation towards the final hours had wore on her, that much she could still feel linger on the Network's psionic after-images, but to give this Vahlen the free reign she desired to experiment with genetics – the very same thing the Elders employed …

Pointless, in the end, she thinks. To fight against the Elders was a fruitless endeavor that ended up in pain and suffering for all of them, even the Gods themselves wept for the needless deaths.

The audio log fell silent and Jax-Mon pushed on despite the lingering questions. If it was possible, things were starting to get even colder as she moved towards the main testing facility, enough that a slight shiver trembled throughout her body. Good, she was getting closer to the King's nest – stopping in a dead halt when she heard the quiet slithering.

Eyes to the ground, she looks like a statue; unmoving, unblinking. Focusing entirely on her sense of hearing, she could pin point each shift of the scales as an underdeveloped muscle curls itself into a tight coil, ready to spring out. When the baby Viper launches itself from the refuse drain, Jax-Mon caught it by it's frail hood, unflinching as it writhed and spat puffs of cold air at her.

The Assassin stared. It did not look like a normal hatchling. It's tail shot up to curl around her forearm, trying to cut circulation off from the limb or to break her wrist to set itself free. She could feel the weak muscle trying to tighten and constrict, but failed miserably. It let out a pitiful, wailing cry of helplessness.

She noted the blue colouring of the scales and the intricate black markings upon it. The primordial Viper, before the Elders tampering. Jax-Mon silenced the neonate with a clean slice of her katana, decapitating. She dropped the head on the ground and used the flat of the blade to slide the rest of the body off from her arm.

When Jax-Mon faced forward, twenty pairs of eyes stared back.

Her katana swept out in front of her, blocking the barrage of – arbalest bolts? The weapon they held resembled that of a crossbow, or at least with similar function. The high powered bolt sped at a high velocity with deadly accuracy, but all paled in comparison to her skills as a blademaster. All bolts were deflected, splitting in half against the alien material of her sword or missing entirely.

The neonates scattered, with one of them hissing fiercely, hood quivering. It seemed to be a rallying cry, as Jax-Mon caught sight of even more of the creatures pouring out from the air ducts or generally any nooks and crannies they were hiding under – some of them still young enough to have a thin film over their eyes, whilst more mature Vipers had more vibrancy in their colouration.

Trying to overwhelm her with sheer numbers was not a tactic that would work. The result would be the same: a bloodbath of carved alien snakes.

The Assassin plucked off her blinding grenade from her belt, mimicking her strategy of dealing with a vast number of enemies like the spectral army her elder brother attempted to send at her. She primed it and tossed it into the air, letting a cover of darkness sweep over the facility as the Vipers were rendered temporarily blind.

One by one, she darted to their cover, killing them with a single swipe of her blade. One through the neck, one through the hood, the heart, the brain. It was, if nothing else, quite a work out to dash from foe to foe. Some of the infant aliens had the wise idea of trying to bite her, but their weak fangs could barely puncture flesh, if the corpses outside were any indication, let alone the alien alloy of her armour.

She did take care that a few of the matured Vipers possessed growing frost glands that erupted in vaporous, ice-cold air that might've been deadly had she been human, but as it stands it merely coated her armour with a thin sheen that broke off with the pressure of her high speed attacks. Jax-Mon took it as a sign of caution for when she confronted the King himself.

Finding her sweeping strikes to be inefficient at cleaning up the seemingly endless horde, Jax-Mon flipped out of the way of another piercing bolt, landing gracefully on the palms of her hands, pushing herself further away to get distance between the legion of neonates. She settled in a crouch, her blade's tip shattering the sheet of ice that layered beneath the snow.

She drew upon her psionic energy, pouring her power and letting her katana be a conduit to store it. From the tip, she called out the reserves deep into the planet itself, encouraging the vast psionic deposit to flow into her alien-forged sword. The Assassin twisted the blade, as if wounding the Earth causing the psi-energy to seep through the open rift.

Dragging her katana towards the side of her to widen the seam she'd created, she arced the blade forth, sending the collected pool of psionic power crashing forward in a devastating wave. The sheer amount of it scorched over the Vipers, searing off their scales, frying their underdeveloped minds and setting ablaze internal infernos that raged in the soul of each one.

Those that were fortunate enough to be out of the harbour waves' path of destruction became panicked at the sight of their clutch dropping dead like fruit flies under it's collapsing, reality-warping weight. They dropped all pretense of instinctual, territorial defending and skulked away back into their hard-to-reach hiding places. The scent of fear was almost as overpowering as the horrible, acrid and pungent odour of psionically-burnt Vipers.

Jax-Mon waded through the torched corpses, steps precise enough that not a single drop of alien blood or oozing flesh stained her person. If her blatant assault on the King's clutch hadn't alerted him by now, then he may have evacuated the nest all together – if, he possessed the same intelligence as his subjugated species.

Delving deeper into the compound, she noticed the terrain drastically change. From the frost-covered laboratory dotted with snow and ice fighting to consume the metallic equipment in rime; the caverns beyond possessed huge, reaching crystals like claws stretching up from the frozen dirt ground. Sharp, serrated stalactites hung from the ceiling, moisture preserved mid drop from the tip. It was only now, in the heart of the nest, that the Assassin felt her previous shivering increase tenfold in a futile attempt to generate heat.

There was another lone datapad in the centre, clutched in between the hands of a felled human scientist, face captured in the essence of screaming fear. Jax-Mon approached it, wrenching the pad free from their stiff grip. Only a single audio log was recorded on the device. She pressed play, listening to it as she sought out the King.

" _Subject Gamma … the Viper King, if you will … has grown remarkably since I had last saw it. I had not expected that he would have reached maturation so soon, but I – I confess that perhaps I have meddled in things I did not entirely know. It's instinct naturally kicked in and from a friend it now saw me as food. Had I not gathered a team I would not be alive today …_ "

The recorded voice of Vahlen pauses in contemplation, leaving static silence broken only by a long, drawn out sigh. " _– Perhaps there was some value in the Commander's directive. It gave me a sense of guided purpose so that I did not end up creating these.. monstrosities as I have. Regardless, it is too late to atone. There is work to be done. Bradford, I hope these logs get to you and - I am sorry. You will not find me._ "

As the audio log ends, Jax-Mon's keen senses felt the predatory eyes of a beast in wait. She flourished her katana at the ready, gaze darting side to side – then dared to look up.

Curled around one of the stalactites, the Viper King's jaws opened up and spat out a potent mix that reacted with the air, flash freezing the Assassin in place and formed small crystals around the base of her. The ice rooted her feet and one of her arms to the side of her. She tried struggling, but even with her supernatural strength, the ice did not thaw from her attempts.

Gamma dropped from the ceiling, crying out a horrible, discordant hiss to summon his children to the awaiting feast, joined by several of his nestmates that had been otherwise tending to the clutch. The Assassin's lips curled back behind her half-mask, sneering at the gathering of aliens. Her free hand, which had avoided the reacting blast, floundered with the katana at the odd angle her arm was frozen at.

The King reared, meeting Jax-Mon at eye-level. He was certainly bigger than the genetically modified females, with a hue of platinum white for his fleshy underbelly and a rich aqua for his scales. His hood was spiked, with similar keratin protrusions lining the waist down and once his maw dropped open, she noted he possessed smaller fangs. She would like to avoid getting bitten, all the same.

He snapped forth, but was forced to slink back as she, with great difficulty, waved the katana threateningly. The motion was enough to have him cautious and even a grazing hit had a thin cut into the corner of his mouth.

The Assassin drove the pommel of her weapon into the ice, creating a crack. That was all the leeway she needed to smash through the rooting ice, sending chips and hard chunks flying. Immediately she brought up her blade to defend an errant bolt shot at her from one of the Vipers.

Ducking under Gamma's lunge, she leapt from the centre to the cavern's pillar, utilizing it to jump over the den of snakes. Her shotgun came loose from it's sling as she was airborne and she trades blade for gun, aiming down the sights briefly. The thunderous roar of Arashi reverberated off the walls as the magnetic shells blasted into Viper and neonate alike. Most of the infants scattered back into hiding at the loud sound, which evened the playing field a little in her favour.

She landed, the mottled shed skin that littered the nest crunching under her weight. Arashi only needed a few moments to recharge the next round of ammunition, but in the mean time she whipped the stock across the head of a pouncing snake, disorientating her long enough to press the muzzle of her gun into her neck and fire a clean shot.

By the time she'd cleared the nest, only she and the King remained.

Evidently, Gamma took her distraction with his nestmates to hide. Jax-Mon slowly slid her shotgun back to her hip, hand moving to draw her katana.

A tongue shot out from behind the pillar, sticking to her utility belt. One strong pull set her off balance completely, herself and her blade crashing to the floor. She scrambled, fumbling to grab her weapon as she was dragged further and further away. Abandoning that plan, she instead tried to unclip her belt to free her from the King's grip, but it was too late.

Once she was close enough, he swiftly wrapped himself around her in a crushing coiled grip. Arashi couldn't budge from it's caught position between her thigh and a segment of his body. He sought out any unprotected flesh, hissing loudly when every inch of her was covered with a thick, protective alien alloy. Instead, he settled on an area of the armour most weakened by the cold and rammed his head against it, fangs catching at the seams.

Jax-Mon growled, intensely trying to wiggle her hands free from the bind. She'd already spent too much energy in her psionic attack earlier to call upon the same. She gasped sharply as he finally managed to jolt a piece of her armour off. The thin undersuit wouldn't be enough against his powerful jaws.

Gamma's tongue flicked out triumphantly, before diving to bite her side – squealing when her hands grabbed both his upper and lower jaw with a vice-like grip. She brought his head away from her vulnerable side to face her. She ignored his coils squeeze her, threatening to compress her entirely. She wrestled with the squirming head, steadily increasing the pressure of her stretch until –

A sickening crack echoed throughout the cave as his jaw dislocated in a way it wasn't supposed to, muscles spasmodic with the incredible pain. Jax-Mon used her freedom to draw Arashi once more and silence the baying creature with a single shot.

The Assassin collapsed to her knees, clutching at her sides. She hadn't realized how close she had been to being crushed under his coils until she was able to breathe properly. As much as she wanted time to recuperate, doing so in the nest would not make for a speedy recovery. She stepped away from the King, hauling his corpse over one arm and using the last of her energy to teleport back to her stronghold.

* * *

As she expected, it didn't take long before word reached the Hunter of her little side-mission.

She meditated under the light of her sarcophagus, a small smile gracing her face which had remained since she arrived back at base. The corpse of the Viper King occupied the spot of her katana, though blanketed by a psionic shroud, keeping it hidden. She breathed in and exhaled slowly.

"Good to see you, big brother." Her eyes opened, settling a neutral gaze on the curious face of Dhag-Mai. She felt her lips tug, smile daring to broaden, but she could sense his suspicion already. She remained seated, peaceful, heedless of the way he eyed the floating tablet behind her.

"Baby sister," he addressed, matching her smile with far more malice and devious intent. He waltzed towards her, keeping a watchful eye on her the closer he got. Jax-Mon did not budge, even when he stood beside her, just out of her field of vision. His arms folded – no amount of ability to predict could analyze what she was up to.

Unless she truly had no desire to attack him. His bias doubted it – but his tactical sense begrudgingly agreed.

"A little Codex told me that someone decided to do a little pest control." he mused. She ignored the way his gaze traveled over her, lingering all too obviously on the side of her armour that had been breached. She did, however, jump slightly when he prodded it. " – Oh _dear_ , Jax-Mon. What have you done here?"

She batted his offending hand away, smile dropping to not quite a frown. If Dhag-Mai didn't know any better, he'd think it a _pout_. "My armour was not prepared to endure the below freezing temperatures of the Viper King's breeding ground. It became brittle enough to be damaged."

"So it _**was**_ you whom killed off that nuisance." he said, vaguely impressed. "I must admit, those specimens are tricky to hunt down. I'm actually quite proud of you, sister."

Jax-Mon looked away, though she forced herself to act as if his praise meant something to her. As long as she had his attention and time – and hopefully his respect – she could begin the first phase to her plan. She reached forward, peeling back the psionic shroud, presenting the corpse of her hunt to him.

"You can have it." she dismissed as Dhag-Mai's affable aloofness honed into a deadly interest. He crouched to inspect it, handling the head with care. His malicious grin turned to satisfaction.

"Oh, this is perfect." he purred. " – I've been looking for a new centrepiece to my collection. Mhm, you are _**spoiling**_ me, sister. Is this your way of apologizing for killing me? If so, then my grudge hasn't disappeared in the slightest. Maybe you should hunt the other two down. I might accept a sorry then."

Jax-Mon rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, Dhag-Mai. But, now that you mention it.. I do have an idea that requires your.. expertise."

The Hunter chuckled. Of course there was a catch. " – I see. Well, consider me all ears."


	30. Lull

To see both the Chosen Assassin and Chosen Hunter side by side was a monumental occasion Fiducia logged for the Network. They moved as equals, a tactical mind and the combat expertise working harmoniously as it should. A shame that the third of psionic wisdom was not present to round off the three – but it _was_ a step in the right direction.

Jax-Mon was proving to be quite the unification that the Elders were seeking between the squabbling brothers. Whilst for the most part their anger and hatred honed in on their unasked for sister – with time, she had batted aside their affronted defense of audacity or loathing for the sake of a greater goal.

It was dangerous for him to think outside of protocol and doctrines, but the defense captain did ponder about his master. The Assassin certainly was the Elders' greatest shaping of life, but under the pressure of such intense brethren, did it wear on her? She showed no signs of weakness and neither did she balk under the weight of their cruelty. She was perfection personified.. but she was not yet a God.

He couldn't, nor did he want to, imagine the stress she was under. He straightened his respectful stance. The most he could do as her defense captain was to perform admirably and above excellence. He remained silent as the two gathered around the holodeck table in the control room, with Jax-Mon taking the head of it. He tried to ignore the Hunter's gaze lingering all too knowingly on him. It had been a while since he was face to face with Dhag-Mai.

"I realized, when defending the Blacksite -"

"Unsuccessfully," the Hunter added with a teasing grin. The Assassin bored holes into him with a fiery glare and Fiducia held his breath for the worst. But she merely canted her head towards the table, weight leaned on the palms of her hands against it.

" – Unsuccessfully," her lip peels back to sneer, but she continues, nonetheless. "That I am no longer content to sit idle and react to their movements. I am not a hunter, like you, brother. My patience is mythical, but I grow restless of them cheating death because of some advantage or another."

Dhag-Mai drummed his fingers along the edge of the table, humming in thought. His mind was constantly racing with stratagems and new ideas of how he could accomplish the Elders' task with the least amount of interaction with his begrudged benefactors and his siblings. He knew, instinctively, that the goal of capturing the Commander was a simple one if they worked together, but.. that defeated the purpose of a competition.

Not that he _wanted_ Earth. It was a terrible planet, full of boring wildlife and an even worse dominant species. But if he could spite his siblings and deny them the privilege of ruling over it, then he would do so. Then again, given how miserable being stuck in a position to rule over such temperamental humans, it would be quite punishing to win..

"So you want to strike whilst the iron is hot and assault the Avenger itself?" he spoke, catching onto her thought process before she'd even mentioned it. Jax-Mon paused, but nodded slowly, tapping something underneath the table and bringing up a holographic projection of the standard anti-aircraft artillery stationed at the most crucial facilities.

They were, for the most part, merely a show of force to deter and scare most Resistance folks into second thoughts. But they did have some use keeping smaller crafts, like the Skyrangers, at bay.

"I realize these artillery's do not have the power necessary to ground a ship like the Avenger. This is where your expertise comes in, brother. Could a cannon like the one I desire be built?"

He was already crunching the numbers halfway through her sentence, eyes distance and snarky comments surprisingly at a minimum. After a few, terse silent moments, Dhag-Mai had an answer, one that manifested in the rise of his shoulders in a shrug.

"Theoretically, yes. We have the resources to build this. But there's a lot of development, designing and experimenting to do before I would be satisfied in approving it for the field." He was like a totally different brother when he lapsed into conversation of what he was passionate about. It was strange for Jax-Mon to hear him so factual, rather than the affable facetiousness she was used to.

He was, dare she think it, _**tolerable**_.

" – and that's not getting into the issues I can foresee in a cannon this large. Namely, power. Using Elerium is an obvious choice, but.." the Hunter glanced at Fiducia, prompting him to finish for him. The captain stalled – he did much the same back when he served as the Hunter's base commander. It was Dhag-Mai's own way of encouraging the units around him to independent thought and thus, usefulness.

"…but the heat generated from the amount of cores required would overload the system at best – and outright melt it or even explode at worst. That's still a problem we face with our plasma rifles." Fiducia finishes. "Even external batteries might reach that point of danger."

"Unlike the rifles, however, a heat sink isn't going to fix it. It's not a small oversight." Dhag-Mai folded his arms, studying the artillery hologram in front of him. He gestured vaguely, muttering something about the blueprint, which Jax-Mon helpfully switched the view to such a thing. His eyes squinted, fingers rubbing at his chin in habit when he fell into deep thought.

"Are there any other alternative ways to power the cores without causing this issue?" the Assassin asked.

"Psi-energy has some wonderful synergy with Elerium, but who are we going to find someone powerful enough too – "

He halted. Then scowled, one that deepened once the answer came to light for Jax-Mon, too. Before she could even suggest it, he was quick to shut it down.

"No, no absolutely not. We are not including our elder into this project." he adamantly grounded out. The moment he caught her intention of just that, he began to step away from the table, drawing further away from her grasp.

Jax-Mon did not slay a Viper King and ruin her armour just for Dhag-Mai to get second thoughts about the project from a mere mention of their elder brother. One quick stride had her before him, hand grasping his upper arm to prevent him from slipping away. Her cool gaze met his sharpened one and the two exchanged a silent bout of unspoken words, broken only when the Assassin began to reason.

" – You can put aside your grievances with our brother for _one_ project, Dhag-Mai. What have you got to lose?"

"He'll take the credit," he sniffed indignantly, tugging his arm out of her grip, but made no more attempt to back away. " – It wouldn't be the first time and something of this magnitude may very well be my magnum opus."

The Assassin frowned, trying not to let her bitterness rise to the surface. He was far too willing to team up with his brother when it concerned eliminating _her_ for good – she hadn't forgotten **that** , of all things, among the chaos of returning the Commander – but a project of actually working in tandem with one another, amicably, even, was the point where he drew the line?

Selfishness, she reminded herself. His greatest fault would always be his own pleasure. _Of course_ the one thing that draws his ire is credit and pride being drawn from him. If it was boring, or he didn't care for it, that was simply _**it**_.

Jax-Mon wanted to get angry. But her Elders' words resounded in her mind, about the Commander's condition. When the more time sensitive matters have been taken care of, then she could tend to herself and air out all of the pain and suffering her siblings had caused her.

"You won't even have to deal with him. I will handle our elder." she said with finality. " – and we have plenty of time before you'll require the external psi-powered batteries, correct?"

"A few months at the earliest." he affirms. He wasn't happy with the whole affair, but his scheming mind never once stopped. Dhag-Mai relaxes, content with information that Jax-Mon isn't privy to. She takes a suspicious note of his sudden calmness, but makes no comment of it. " – A working cannon, if I.. ahem, _we_ .. want to build this secretly, may take upwards of a year."

" – And if you had help?"

"Six months, estimate."

"Take Fiducia as your foreman." she settled on. Losing her XO and her defense captain would leave her venues of Network communication and intelligence gathering limited for a while, but it was a price she was willing to pay if it meant the completion of the Elders' holy task set upon them.

The captain's mouth opened, either to protest or to say something, but in the presence of two Chosen, he merely shut it and remained at attention, even as the Hunter lazily glanced towards him.

"Fiducia? _Oh_ – he actually has a name." the Hunter slings an arm around the shoulders of the captain, a smug smirk gracing his lips as he felt him tense under it. "I was going to steal my old captain back anyway, but thank you for the blessing, sister. At least now you won't be mad that I _legitimately_ require him for a few months."

"I trust that he will return to me in one piece." she warns, albeit lightly. The Hunter laughs, managing to muster up some humour in his otherwise dark cadence.

"If the skills I have taught him have not weakened under your command, baby sister, then neither you nor he have anything to fear." Dhag-Mai purrs, patting the captain's arm, whom was growing increasingly and noticeably uncomfortable.

"I'm serious, Dhag-Mai."

"Yes," he intones. " – So am I."

She met his gaze levelly, holding it, before she resigned to cave in first with the quirk of her lip and a dismissive wave of her hand. The Hunter tugs the unwilling captain close, not because of any camaraderie, but to allow him to teleport himself and the soldier to his own stronghold to work on the artillery.

Jax-Mon couldn't help but feel that the Hunter bowed way too quickly than his usual fare. He tended to draw out his ire as long as possible, if only to entertain himself. Which meant he was planning something – that he wouldn't allow her to be privy of. She wasn't fond of surprises, least of all from him. Trusting him to accomplish what she asked of him was one thing, but to blindly do so, ignoring his tendencies..?

She was not so foolish.

Time will tell, unfortunately. For now, she would have to be content with the current pace.

* * *

"You found her.. in _Eastern_ Europe _?_ "

"Yes, the prison facility stationed there." Nina flippantly responded, arms crossed and looking overall bored to be aboard the Avenger. She didn't care much for the ship that was the apple of any engineer's eye. The Commander's hard stare and Bradford's similar inquisitive one merely irked her. They had no reason to disbelieve her.

Yet she couldn't help but feel paranoid at every inflection of tone, every microtwitch of a muscle. She half expected them to suddenly pull a gun on her, discovering the secret of her duplicity despite the lack of a trail she'd made. The Hunter covered his tracks perfectly and Nina liked to think she could, too.

Kingsley's gaze mercifully slid over to her XO. Bradford, feeling her eyes upon him, shot a look back. Words were exchanged with their eyes; with one mutual, solid thought: The Assassin didn't have _territory_ in **_Eastern_ ** Europe. From what they knew of the Chosen, they didn't like to get along much. Why would she allow one of her prisoners to be put out of her reach?

Then there was the scientist in question. Dawn had awoken three days after Nina arrived with her in tow – and Kingsley was quick to detain the loose cannon of a Reaper for some intel. Dawn seemed.. relatively in good health, but highly confused. Tygan was assured the scanners on brain activity was normal and not in line with any psionic tampering..

Kingsley couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. She'd yet to question Dawn of her memory, but frankly she expected it to be unreliable at best and down right amnesiac at worse. ADVENT had a way of making sure secrets stayed as such. The silver lining, from all of it, was that no command or control chip had been inserted. Tygan mentioned a shadow over a certain area of the brain, but couldn't determine what it was other than the equipment's poor rendering.

" … And you found her – "

"Unconscious, strapped to an operating table. I killed the attending Medic and rescued her." the Reaper reiterated for what felt like the sixth time. Her patience wore thin and she uncrossed her arms. "You are holding _me_ hostage at this point. There is a war to fight, unless you have forgotten, Commander."

"Have some damn _patience_ ," snapped Bradford, which might have been shorthand for _show some respect_. He may have been buddies with Volk, but some of his Reapers knew just how to get on his nerves. Hornet thankfully, was not a typical case among his pack of wolves – most lone operatives were too reclusive to make issue in the first place. " – We just want to make sure we understand the full series of events."

"Am I being _questioned_?" she asked, a smile set on her lips that drained the warmth in the room and sharpened like a dagger. "No wonder you lot aren't so popular. Every benefactor that swoops in to save your sorry asses gets grilled about a job well done."

"A job so _successfully_ well done raises some brows." Kingsley admits. She fully prepared for error. " – Efficiently executed with no causalities nor alerting of the enemy. Please don't mistake our caution for ungratefulness, I am overjoyed that we have our medic back in good health. You've done well."

Nina's smile drops, lips pressing into a thin line. There was an insult that tripped on the tip of her tongue, begging to be let loose, but she could tell by the tense posturing of the senior officers they awaited with a rebuttal in tow. So she merely shifts her weight to her other foot, hands slipping to rest lazily on her hips.

Kingsley appraised her one last time, before relenting. " – You can go. Thank you."

She didn't stay longer than she needed, leaving in a billow of black trench coat and sneering face. Bradford glared at the back of her, before his head slowly turned to face his superior.

"It doesn't add up, Dottie. I'm not sure _why_ she'd feel the need to lie about -"

Kingsley raised a silencing hand, shaking her head. "We may have bigger problems than Hornet's questionable recount. I don't believe for one second that ADVENT left Dr. Lovett unscathed. Capture warrant or not, the absolute first thing they would've done is insert the chip the moment they got her."

Bradford begrudgingly agreed, as much as he didn't want to face the prospect himself. He settled a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. " – Do you want me to question her? I can see you're struggling, Dottie.."

Kingsley briefly patted his hand, but otherwise kept her gaze through the viewing glass to the medic nursing a glass of water. It was hurting to stand and she'd channeled her best effort not to appear enfeebled in front of Hornet, but among friends and close company, the cracks were starting to show.

"No. You go back to the Bridge, make sure the Avenger isn't going to crash into a mountain."

"Lord knows it probably will even _with_ my piloting." he flatly muttered, which earned a small chuckle from the Commander. He patted one last time, pulling away from her and ascending up to the stairs to the Bridge, leaving Kingsley alone to her thoughts and their addled CMT in the other room.

She knocked on the door to announce herself, before entering slowly. Dawn glanced up from her glass, meeting the Commander's gaze with tired eyes lined with bags under them, looking like a shadow of her former self. Pale skin, limp hair – it triggered the maternal instinct in her that she had to squash down. Professionalism swept in easily to keep her succinct and unbiased, but her tone was softer.

"How are you feeling?" she started with, if only for politeness. Kingsley sat on the bed adjacent to her, strained, empty smile resting on her face. Dawn laughed just as fulfilled.

"Disorientated." the medic said, raising the glass of water to sip, nesting the base of it in the palm of her hand, finding some solace in staring at their feet on the floor. " – The past two weeks have been a jumbled mess of incoherent thought and incredible pain. It's like I was transported into a living nightmare."

"I understand." Kingsley empathized, truly having went through the same horrors of lacking awareness and lucidity during her unwanted tenure as ADVENT's tactical base of information. She wouldn't even wish that on her worst enemy although her spite begged to differ.

Dawn continued. "I'm sorry, Commander. If you're looking for answers about what happened or – or facility locations, I couldn't tell you. It hurts to really think about it, let alone focus on not passing out right now."

The Commander leaned back, hands rubbing at her knees. " – I wouldn't push you for facility locations. Right now, your priority should be to recover. I'll be honest with you, Lovett, we're not entirely sure what ADVENT has done to you and until we figure out or settle on an answer we're satisfied with, I don't want you to leave this room."

The doctor blanched but could see her reasoning. If she was compromised, walking around the internal structure of the Avenger could be feeding some very interesting information to an observer. It didn't make her feel any better about it, however, treated like a potential threat in a place she'd come to call home.

"What did you have in mind?"

Kingsley wet her lips, having just settled on a plan of action herself. " – Tygan's going to continue monitoring you for a few days and conduct a few tests. Some of the more invasive ones will only go forth with your consent, but.."

".. it'll make things go faster if I comply." she finished to the Commnader's nod. "I see."

"Get some rest for now, Lovett. I'll send Dragunova up with some food for you. Can't imagine ADVENT had fed you." The mention of food made her look a little green, but her words rang true. She was starving, to the point of nausea.

"Beggars can't be choosers in this war, but I'd request that it isn't solid. I don't think my stomach will be kind to me if I try to eat a full meal." she recommends. Even as a patient, she couldn't switch off the doctor in her. Kingsley offered her a small, genuine smile.

"I'll let her know. Rest well, Lovett."

* * *

Back up on the Bridge, it was a good thing Bradford had returned, as an incoming transmission from one of the newer haven's they'd established connections with wished to parley with them. He gestured for the techie to allow the signal through, giving him a video screen of a young woman that looked like the conflict around her had aged her tenfold. Bradford offered a sympathetic smile, stepping closer towards the camera view.

The woman fiddled with her own camera, sending static images that caught and flickered, threatening to cut connection all together. But eventually the feed stabilized and she leaned back away from the computer monitor. " – Denmother to Avenger. Do you copy?"

"Receiving you, Denmother." Bradford confirmed. "How can we help?"

"You've done a lot for us." she was quick to assure, as if hoping he didn't assume that the only reason she'd call was for a favour. The matriarch tucked a lock of hair back underneath the lip of her beanie, managing to crack a half-smile in genuine happiness. "– You really don't know how much a difference a clean pair of socks makes until you actually wear them. Some of the kids have taken to learn knitting so they can repair or even create new threads."

"I've been there." he tells, trying to hold his own smile. The early years without the Commander was spent in the harshest winters, weathering it out with Volk. He knew what it was like to be barefooted, dirtied – starving. If he could prevent that to someone else, he'd move mountains to. "You've got a lot of resourceful folk in your den, Astrid."

She nods, absentmindedly. Shen's work on their method of communications had improved the quality of the video feed. The slightest movement didn't glitch out the images to incomprehensibility. " – One of our kids can't stop talking about XCOM. I've been hesitant to let you know, because he really is so young. Fifteen. Escaped from an ADVENT _juvie_. Or whatever they're calling it these days."

"Boot camp. Shorthand for rehabilitation centres." he corrected bleakly. The idea was frightening to dwell on – a mutual thought shared by the Denmother.

"Right.. well, he's resourceful and a prodigy with computers. He wants to sign up as an engineer for your crew, because somehow he found out that you guys are lacking."

Bradford deliberated. On the one hand, they needed all sorts of personnel, both on the field and managing at the base of the Avenger. One of the biggest demands they required so far was extra set of hands for engineering. But, that was with the hope and the assumption that the people they were recruiting were, if nothing else, over the age of eighteen.

Not that ADVENT cared about the age. If they were Resistance, they were the enemy. But that didn't mean _he_ had to stoop to the same low moral standing either.

"The Avenger and the people aboard it aren't really equipped to deal with children." he replied evenly. " – I can't promise he'll be any safer here than he is in the haven. I don't have any illusion about the soldiers we employ. If he pisses one of them off, that'll be his own responsibility."

"Well you know what they say, it takes a village to raise them. Or maybe a ship's crew." She chuckled, but the mirth subsided immediately. "I'll let him know. I told him as much when he bugged me about it – "

The video flickered on and off temperamentally as the Denmother clutched at either side of the terminal. Bradford's face grew concerned, searching for any signs of danger. Distant screams started to arise and her voice was muffled as she yelled off-screen to someone. Soldiers stormed by, carrying their conventional, tacky rifles to their posts.

"Denmother?" questioned Bradford.

" – There's just – Disturbance – … an ADVENT Patrol," Her speech was garbled as it seemed the radio tower they erected began to crash down – and the connection cut, leaving Bradford to stare at the black screen.

He swore under his breath. Never a dull moment.


	31. White

Bradford supposed there was no better time to wet the new recruits than with what they do best: defending havens from ADVENT death patrols. It would put them right at the forefront of action and give them a taste of just what to expect every mission. If they could survive the mental strain, then they were well on their way to becoming decent soldiers.

Not that they could pick and choose, but if there was any luxury he'd ask for of the higher powers that be, it was a team of soldiers he could rely on.

Bradford wiped at his face, grimacing down at the datapad that listed back the roster to him. It was bleak to hope that their show of force would inspire the restless haven members into joining XCOM – and there was still that engineer kid as well. He wasn't hot on the idea at all. But, at the end of the day, it wasn't his choice to make.

His gaze slid over to Kingsley once she joined him down at the barracks to assemble a defence squad. Her face was a picturesque sample of neutrality, impossible to breach or read. With his eyes, he traced every wrinkle, every laugh line that had deepened with the stress of forced smiles and had the soldiers not began to filter into a neat line in front of them, he might've rested a hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

Her hands clasped behind her back as she regarded each and every soldier under her command, before she nodded slightly for him to take the floor. Clipping his datapad to his belt, Bradford began.

"We've got a routine clean up down at Idaho, Western United States. It might be simpler than the assault on the Blacksite, but that doesn't make the mission any less dangerous. This is still ADVENT we're dealing with. Considering this is an assault against a haven, it's reasonable to expect one of those – infiltration units are present. Keep your eyes peeled for any strange behaviour and neutralize the enemy threat."

" – Can I uh, interrupt?"

Lily Shen bowed her head, cheeks flushing hotly when every pair of eyes directed towards her. She wasn't used to the attention, nor did she make it a habit to enter the barracks during debrief before a mission start. Scurrying over to Bradford, whom pursed his lips disapprovingly, she gestured towards a bunch of numbers and spiking graphs to her datapad.

"What am I looking at, Shen?" he asked. From his limited understanding, they might've appeared as some kind of life signatures, but translating the data in a readable way was lost on him. The chief engineer was quick to explain, if only so she didn't have to linger any longer than she already had.

"Tygan and I have been working twenty-four seven on the Shadow Chamber. It's not completed yet, but some of the features that we are beta testing are functional." she tried not to let her excitement show, but her love for her work shone through in a brilliant smile.

" – This here? It's telling us what we can expect. I've made sure to key the biological signatures to that of ADVENT's genetics – we can thank their gene-locked weapons for the idea on how to do that – and we can determine exactly what sort of soldiers they're sending based on their genetics."

She paused to draw in a breath, face glowing. Bradford helpfully remained silent, prompting her to continue with a small nod.

"Some of the genetic codes we're picking up are unknown, since we've never come across it before. I'm guessing that's the infiltration unit. The other signatures here … and here mean that there's three patrols consisting of Officers and Stun Lancers. This psionic-biomechanical signature? _**Has**_ to be a Codex."

"Good work, Chief." Kingsley praised from behind her. She paused, blinking when she caught sight of the dark circles under her blood-shot eyes and frazzled, frayed locks of hair. " – Have you gotten _any_ sleep?"

Lily laughed, perhaps a little erratically. She'd been working around the clock on the Shadow Chamber since the breakthrough both she and Tygan had regarding it. Chasing inspiration was a hard thing to do once it was lost, even if she vowed to sleep once her progress slowed. Evidently, she'd broken that vow.

"One last thing – Is Captain Mox going to be on the mission?"

Bradford glanced at the gathered soldiers. Mox stood as he always did, at attention and awaiting any new orders. The Skirmisher would be a brilliant soldier to send out, especially with new recruits. He had a knack for remaining unbiased and keeping a calm, level head under pressure – and the alternative squad lead, Jane Kelly, was currently unavailable. He'd taken one look at the shattered Ranger and knew she would jump a mile at the sound of gunshots, so he issued bed rest for her personally.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Mox, you'll be acting as the squadron leader until Kelly can return to duty."

Lily stepped over towards the burly Skirmisher, gesturing for his ripjack arm. He complied without question or complaint as she fussed over the component, attaching a Skulljack to it as the last one had become corrupted and destroyed. She was still slightly nervous to interact with him, but in front of so many, she addresses him without issue.

"Okay, same deal as before, Captain. This only has enough juice for one hack and this time, I need you to jack the Codex." she wet her lips, quick to assure him of issues he wasn't going to bring up anyway. " – Now, I have improved the hacking protocol, but this Skulljack was made with the material I pulled from the Codex's brain. Hopefully that _should_ trick the Codex in thinking it's just talking to another of it's kind."

"Is there anything specific I should search for?"

"The data I managed to pull from the corrupted Skulljack spoke of a project. Ended in ' _tar_.' – so, see if you can find out any information on that." she tells. Backing away from the Skirmisher, the engineer returned back to the senior officers, allowing Bradford to resume picking out the rest of the squad.

"Dragunova." he said. An obvious choice: the Reaper was an excellent scout – and one of their only ways of detecting the Assassin, should she be the one presently leading the charge against the haven. She could analyze a battlefield like no other. She stepped up to join Mox, knocking him affectionately with a check of her hip.

"Someone has to make sure he doesn't get captured." she quipped. The Skirmisher's lips twitched as he resisted a smile.

"Try not to take a bullet on my behalf, Dragunova."

She spat something in her language, though her laughing tone indicated that it wasn't unfriendly. Bradford waved them off towards the Skyranger as he continued down the line.

"Webnar, you're up. You'll be primarily helping to smuggle the civilians that hadn't time to evacuate out." informed the XO. The German Ranger nodded, having a knack for stealth – though not as apt as a Reaper – allowed him to sneak around the field virtually undetected. His skills were proven at the Blacksite, having able to escape even the Assassin's keen sight by using Kelly's distraction to his advantage.

Two more. He stopped before one of the rookies, checking his datapad to reaffirm their name and role. " – Rookie … Jowah Clacher, it's your lucky day. Says here you're a bit of a sharpshooter. Combat Infantryman?"

"That I am." Clacher hesitated, then corrected himself, adjusting the strap of his shouldered rifle. " – Well, I was, anyway, before the aliens. Plenty sons-of-bitches to practice on now, though."

"Don't let Mox catch you saying that." Bradford muttered, then added more seriously; " – who will be your squad lead, mind. I hope you don't need me to tell you to listen to him and whatever beef you have with Skirmishers can be settled in the ring back at base."

Clacher looked at him strangely, as he had no issue with the Skirmishers, but took it as a sign that perhaps, in the past, one or two of them might have had. Instead, he salutes smartly. " – Yes sir."

The sharpshooter joined the awaiting three, leaving Bradford to pick out the last two. With a lack of a specialist on the field, capable of performing battlefield surgery like Dawn, things got a whole lot more dangerous. That did leave their newest Skirmisher in the form of Hecate – he'd never liked psionic powers, even despite Kingsley harbouring them.

Betos did mention that she had the capability to heal – and whilst it was something that he frankly wouldn't trust, the other alternative was nothing.

"Mystic.. Hecate?" he announced uncertainly. He withheld a frown as she seemed quite.. skittish. Never a good sign in a soldier – but then again, he supposed the Priests weren't built to be _soldiers_ in a traditional sense. He could only hope Mox or even Betos herself could help smooth the transition of their freed sister. " – You'll be providing support."

"As you will." she softly responds. At least they didn't want her to kill, but to support the very murderers themselves made her an accomplice to any death made against ADVENT. The best she could hope for was trying to find the field commander leading the assault and pray she could force some understanding through the stubborn doctrines of the Network. She steps away from the line and joins the four.

Kingsley regards the assembled squad, seeing them off. " – Our priority is to the haven. Mox, do not Skulljack the Codex until you have **my** say so. This mission will not be compromised by an unknown element we hadn't accounted for. Contact us the moment you drop in, there won't be any need for radio silence as they'll already know we are there. Goodluck, Menace."

She smiled slightly to a chorus of ' _Yes Commander_ ' as the Skyranger's back rose to seal shut, Firebrand donning her helmet and hauling herself up to the cockpit. Kingsley and the two senior officers moved away, heading back to the Bridge.

* * *

All who dare encroach on his territory were merely infested maggots burrowing in the bounty of his lands. They would be subject to his wrath. The Warlock took no pride in cleansing the various havens that settled, the faces of dirtied humans awash with pain and suffering as he and his Priests sweep over and make them see the error of their ways. A thankless mantle he was growing rather weary of.

But for the glory of the Elders he would continue to waste his time and power striking at the Resistance. He had allowed them a wide berth, having focused his efforts on more pressing matters of the Templars. Many knights had fallen between the time of Feng's capture – and release, he thinks darkly, knowing the culprit – and presently. Unfortunately, humans had a tendency to survive.

Like cockroaches. Insects that he would squash underneath the heel of his boot.

Eyes, alight with raw psionic energy, cast his gaze outward to the destruction his entourage was causing. It was not as brutal as the butchering his sister was capable of. No, he preferred a more sophisticated, clean kill. Some of the humans willing to proffer themselves before the Elders' mercy could be used. Taken prisoner for potential Blacksites or to be made examples of in the city centre.

After all, proof that the dissident elements were being dealt with _**humanely**_ needed to be shown. Dhag-Il never understood why humanity believed that a criminal deserved their so called ' _rights_.' – did they not forsake them when they commit themselves to a life devoid of the Elders' pure and loving embrace?

Truly, the Elders' adoration of humanity knew no bounds.

He knew that his assault against the parasitic blotch on his territory would not go unanswered. Soon, XCOM would arrive in a trial of blazing glory, proclaiming heroic deeds, descending the sky like angelic benefactors. He would correct his sister's mistake and crush the haven and XCOM in one fell swoop. The Commander will surrender herself by the time he was –

_Son,_

The most harmonious sound if he'd ever heard one. Dhag-Il basked in the melodic tune of the Elders' songspeak, eyes fluttering closed as Their presence flooded his mind and enveloped every fibre of his being. The Priests he'd taken beside him – Gabriel and Uriel – fell to their knees in supplication as they too, felt the palpable weight of Their being.

"Masters," came his dulcet rumble, lowering himself, though not at the level of his subordinates. He kept his head bowed, eyes closed. " – You _bless_ this humble, holy warrior. Do my actions please you? I work endlessly to ensure the vile heretics that dare defy you are punished. There will be no compassion for those that value the dirt more than the divine."

_Your work has left us wanting, Son._ The Elders let the words sit, feeling the Warlock's suppressed emotions stir violently as he struggled to discern Them. Elusive, They remained, withdrawn and unfeeling, up until They could feel his questions start to rise to the surface of his thoughts. Their monumental psi-energy caressed over his own – and relaxation came swiftly to the Chosen.

_But We are proud of this latest assault. The Commander is sure to respond_. Something about his masters' growing excitement did not placate Dhag-Il. There was purpose to their sudden address to him. He kept silent, forever loyal and respectful to Their whims.

_You will remain an observer, Son. It is time we began pushing Our project into it's beta stages. A field test shall be conducted. Elder Tzaphkiel will be assuming control and We shall grant these pitiful humans a glimpse into what awaits Us all._

The Warlock quivered at Their tone of finality. The absolute _weight_ they carried. But he demurred, softly, daringly. "Masters, they are not worthy of such holy presence gracing them. These humans are worth less than rats. To gaze upon the magnificence of an Elder is a privilege they have not earned!"

He moves to add, voice quiet. " – Is it not too soon, Father? The Commander's understanding of your greater vision is naught. The Avatar is.. untested. Unrefined. Allow me to -"

_Silence._ They whispered coldly, Their speech was a harsh, frigid wind lashing against his mind. He flinched, mollified into subservience once more before calmness returned to the Ethereal beings. They cooed gently, a smiling lilt taking to Their speech. _We are satisfied with the current projections of it's development. It_ **WILL** _be tested today. The Commander will trigger the Codex's failsafe and allow us to transport our Avatar onto the field. You will do_ everything _in your power to ensure that she takes this path._

"As you will." he murmured. As much as a primal, thrumming elation with being able to watch the Elders smite the pathetic creatures, there was a bead of fear that tugged through his chest. The way They carried Themselves, the way They spoke, went beyond a mere **retribution** overdue. No, a raw malevolence filled his being from Their words, from an unsaid anger to the ungratefulness of the species they worked tirelessly to ascend to a higher plane of existence.

He feels their presence leave him, like a cold shroud peeling slowly away. It was only until he completely felt alone in his own mind did he heave a shuddering breath, rising to stand weakly. His Priests followed the same once he touched the backs of their heads, gaze turning to the smoking horizon of the haven.

Perhaps, if nothing else, the Commander will learn the amount of suffering she inflicts on the very people she was trying to save.

"Chosen..?" the older of the twins, Gabriel, hesitantly breached. They had heard the Elders' vow as crystal clear as their pontiff and his trepidation coloured their own thoughts to match.

The Avatar was the latest of the Elders' pet projects, but one that surpassed even the creation or ascension of the Chosen. It was Their effigy, to walk upon the planes of Earth without the stalking threat of death catching up to them. It was more than just a mere _beginning_ , it was a genesis. Soul transferred to the soulless to rise and live among Their people.

Should the field test of the Avatar prototype – as much as they would claim it's status in beta, he knew it little more than a foray into alpha at _best_ – prove successful, it would provide a bounty of data for them to deliberate over. Even in failure, there was _**statistic**_ success. But, beyond that of numbers on a page – the consequences of failure was immeasurable. It was akin to showing their hand too early. Why send out the gatekeeper Codex _now,_ when the project was little less than infancy?

The Elders have always made questionable decisions, ones that none were allowed to bring into light, but never have they been _impatient_.

Was Their time truly waning so thin? With Dhag-Il's vast psionic mastery, the creatures that language held no name whispered to him an eternal _void_ that awaited the universe. A fate that doubtlessly, the Elders foresee. His lips purse tersely as he tried not to face the scope of how little meaning it all held when faced with such … inevitability.

"Chosen." Uriel urgently pressed once he failed to respond to her sister. He blinked, the talons of his gauntlets careful as he nursed his temple and nodded absent-mindedly. " – What are our orders?"

"To influence, as it has always been." he answered. "The Commander requires some.. guidance, if we are to achieve what the Elders envision."

* * *

There was no threat of ADVENT ships lying in wait to intercept the Skyranger, allowing Firebrand to pilot the craft as close to the action as possible whilst still avoiding the major firefight exchanged between the death patrols and the haven's defences. Her bird may have been sturdy, but given enough pelting of the magnetic weaponry and it was bound to cause some exterior damage – and repairs were a costly thing.

Menace dropped to no issues, although Clacher was looking rather green from the initial descent. He pressed a hand to his stomach, as if that'd steady the nausea that churned within and glanced around for high ground to grab. There were a couple of structures erected like watchtowers that he could use, but with some of them caught on fire, he didn't think they would hold for long.

He spots a fairly decent nest on the roofs of a ram-shack building – at the same time the squadron lead does too. Mox falls naturally into the role of a leader. It was what he was built for, after all.

"Clacher, cover our flanks from the high ground." he instructed. The Scottish sharpshooter gave a brisk salute in acknowledgement, breaking away from the squad of five, himself included, to circle around the building and find suitable leverage to climb to the rooftop. Once in position, he lowered to a steadying prone, stock of his rifle nestling on his shoulder and supported by the makeshift tripod.

He took a cursory glance through the scope – and tensed, switching to their shared radio channel. " – I got eyes on an ADVENT patrol. Two pugs, three klicks west of your position. Got a family hunkered down there, I think they're trying to flush 'em out."

"Understood," Mox murmured. " – Dragunova?"

"They won't even know I'm here." she assures. Unclipping her mask from her belt, it settles nicely over her face, obscuring her identity. The all black ensemble blended surprisingly well against the backdrop of the dusty plains of the haven, allowing her to slip ahead. Mox allowed her a few moments to scout ahead before directing the squad westward.

The sight of the Officer and Stun Lancer grew closer as the team advanced. Dragunova easily eluded detection, clambering up a set of crates to hoist herself to the garrison's walkway, utilizing the metal sheets that made up the railing as cover. She tugged off her sticky claymore, watching the pod like a hawk before tossing the C4 charge slyly down below.

She smirked behind her mask in success once it clung onto the Officer's cape, the owner unaware. She didn't risk speaking in case her cover was blown, but she did open and close the radio channel to indicate she'd gotten into position and set up a trap.

"Clacher. Fire on the Officer."

"XCOM says ' _hello_ ', alien bastards." the Sharpshooter enthused, scoping out the explosive. A few beats pass and he squeezed the trigger, beginning the squad's first skirmish with an uproarious explosion that deafened those around them. The civilian family hunkered under a broken down brick wall huddled closer as the fires stretched into the sky – the ground quaking with the shockwave of reverberation.

With the Officer summarily dealt with, that left the Stun Lancer. She had been knocked back from the explosion; blast padded armour and denser muscles protecting her from anything more than a mild disorientation that swiftly was corrected. She shouted at the squad, mouth twisted into a stimulant-induced snarl, stun baton drawn.

The spines raised, electricity arcing throughout the spikes. Klaus moved to tend to the family, gathering up the ten year old daughter in his arms and assisting the parents to their feet, urging them to pick up the pace towards safety. The Lancer caught sight of him trying to evacuate the civvies, snarl morphing to a brutal grin as she charged towards them, dodging out of the bulletfire of Mox's bullpup and the purposefully shot wide from Hecate.

"Webnar!" he shouted to warn him, but the Ranger saw the Lancer approach.

"Get behind me, sweetheart," Klaus told the kid quickly, dropping her in favour of his sword, catching the Lancer's baton with the curve of the blade. The child scrambled away, running towards her parents rather than the protection of the Ranger as the two fought it out.

Klaus held his own, but the Lancer was simply built – genetically _defined_ for brawling. She staggered him back with an overpowering shove of her lance, swinging a hard fist that connected with his jaw. He bit his tongue sharply and blood popped out from a dislodged molar, but it was the distraction she needed to turn towards someone more hapless.

Her baton sliced through the parent's chest to the screams of his child before a shot of Dragunova's rifle – now that Klaus was not in the way and the risk of him getting shot was nominal – lodged into the Lancer's shoulder. Induced by the blind rage of battle, she ignored the pain and continued, managing a glancing, thankfully non-fatal swipe on the second civilian before Mox put a lethal shot through her skull.

Klaus nursed his jaw, spitting out the coppery fluid that coated his mouth. His own pain was secondary to the grief of the wailing child and the injured parent.

" _They're specifically targeting civilians._." Bradford's voice drifted over the comms, aghast. " _– Menace, pick up the pace. We have to drive them out of the AO before they manage to kill any more_."

A harrowing start to their mission. Mox couldn't help but feel as if it was merely the calm before the storm.


	32. David

Burning shelters, screaming children – distant pulses of magnetic weaponry befouling the air with a particularly tart, electrifying taste – was a scene Elena was intimately familiar with. She surveyed the ensuing destruction with sharp eyes, mind addled with the past. It was like reliving her childhood, full of blood and terror and so very many deaths. Only with less bitter snow and frostbite nipping at every inch of her flesh.

She drew in a calming breath, but it did little to still her nerves that begged her to flee, to take solace in the shadows and dark winters. If anything, she inwardly cursed herself blind. First mission back from bed rest and already her willpower caved? It wasn't right.

It wasn't _natural_.

That gave her pause, sidling up to a sheet of scrap metal pushed up the side of a broken down truck, casting a hesitant glance around the corner before she tightly pulled all of her limbs towards her, hand at the ground. She camouflaged quite nicely with the burnt, ruined soil and inky, billowing smoke from the flames. Her gut warned her of all sorts of bad vibes in the air – and whilst some may raise a brow to it's validity, sometimes the gut instinct knew best.

She didn't know either or not to warn the rest of the squad. Creating unnecessary panic – if her suspicions were correct – wouldn't help them in the long run. There certainly was some level of psionic influence in the air. Elena may not be a psion, but perceiving it was a unique gift of keen observation. Something she found hard to teach when relying on principals such as ' _it simply didn't_ feel _right._ '

Elena pushed onward to scout, her radio silence indicated she hadn't come across any contact, yet. She tracked across the ground, keeping herself low under the cover of the smokey fog to move towards a set of empty oil drums. Miscellaneous items lay left or ruined around the area, leading her to believe that it may have been close to the heart of the haven.

Her ears pricked when the sound of rustling snapped her attention towards it, Vektor rifle at the ready and muzzle tip pointed at the disturbance. The toppled crate was pushed, landing in a thump beside the dirty-faced kid that was hiding behind it. Elena froze, breath halted as the kid looked exactly how she did in her youth.

"What – "

She furiously squeezed her eyes shut and once she reopened them, the kid no longer shared any of her features. Male, freckles, a shock of ginger curls. Elena thanked the powers that be that no ADVENT happened to be lurking around the corner to catch her unawares, but it did unfortunately confirm her suspicion. First things first, she knelt by the kid.

"Oh, uh – " He jerked back once she came into view, only to wince and suck air through his teeth as he twisted at his leg. She gave a cursory glance and she needn't have any training in first aid to know that he'd injured it, if the shaft of wood pierced into his thigh was any indication. The wood looked singed – possibly debris from a nearby explosion he was unlucky enough to be near.

"Don't move." Elena told lightly. " – We are not the enemy."

"XCOM?" the boy asked, eyes alight with a renewed hope, despite the tears that lined them. They looked bloodshot and the periodic tensing of his jaw and clenched teeth displayed a remarkable and admirable bearing of the pain. He glanced down at his injured leg and let out a weak, forced laugh. " – Well, this wasn't how I wanted to meet you guys. Thought it'd be heroically taking down the Aliens side by side. Instead of like … _this_."

"You're a hero for standing up for yourself against the regime in the first place." she said, tone unusually light. Elena wasn't one to be soft, even in the worst of circumstances, but beyond the psionic influence weighing in the air, she did see herself a little in the teenager. Her heart twinged at the thought of Djordje and she activated the two-way radio.

"Outrider to Bandit. I've got an injured teenager here that requires aid." Elena pushed her hand out, halting the teen from rising as he tried to fidget himself into a more comfortable position. He looked pale from the loss of blood and fresh tears dripped from tightly closed eyes as waves of pain continued to radiate from his leg. " – Badly."

" _Aye, Outrider._ _I'll bring the Mystic with me._ " the Ranger's voice crackled over the radio in staccato spurts. The reception was poor enough without the radio tower – but with the growing threat of something else lurking in the AO, it almost cut out entirely. " _– She's the only one that can administer some sort of medical aid. The haven's doctor unfortunately.._ "

He trailed off, letting his silence fill in their fate.

"Be swift." Elena gruffly, though not unkindly, intoned. Cutting the channel, she leaned over towards the teen to help him into a more comfortable position, tugging a somewhat clean cloth from her trench coat to at least clean up some of the blood that poured from the leg. His breathing was a little more shallow than she'd like, but she prayed that their newest ally was true to her word as a healer.

The squad arrived a few moments later after Elena took one more quick trip around the surrounding area to make sure that no nasty surprises were about to round the corner and ambush them. She was growing irritated and antsy – and not all of it could be attributed to her normal paranoia. She paced near the kid, who was focused on merely the sound of her pace to distract him. The moment Mox came into view, she gestured hurriedly.

Klaus jogged up to the kid, whistling low at his wounded leg. " – Och, this is nasty. But you'll get the most badass scar out of it, huh?"

The teen smiled a little, moreso to do with who they were than the Ranger's attempts to make him feel better about the situation. "You're Corporal Webnar." he blurted. " – You're on ADVENT's most wanted list! I don't want to say I'm happy to meet you, 'cause, well, the haven is getting destroyed to make that happen – but I've been a fan of XCOM …"

He continued to ramble on, with Klaus' eyes wrinkling at the corners, belaying his smile beneath his bandanna, whilst gesturing Hecate over to tend to the leg. The Priest may have had her reservations about assaulting her former kin, but even she wouldn't sabotage a human child's life. She lowered to one knee, seeing the injury through the natural psi-energy that laced every human. It hummed with a dull light in her mind's eye and her fingers trailed the air until they rested ever so gentle on the piece of wood.

Once the kid's speech began to dwindle and his eyes gravitate to what Hecate was doing, Klaus purposefully made sure to squat on the opposite side, talking through the procedure as the Priest concentrated. " – Oi, oi, just look at me now, kiddo. You got a name?"

"Of course I do." the teen muttered, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Klaus, face twisting in wincing pain as Hecate worked on his leg. " – It's … Miles."

"Just Miles?"

He whimpered and whined as he could feel that the piece of wood had been removed and a strange purple glow shone in the corner of his peripheral vision. He forced himself to focus on the hard yet oddly warm and forthcoming features of the Ranger instead, sweat beading his face and jaw aching among a variety of middling pains.

" – Baby. Baby Miles. I know, don't laugh. M-Mom said she wanted to go unconventional. I hated it. B-but … since she's gone now," His voice cracked at that. "It'd – it'd be so disrespectful to change it."

"I understand, Miles." Klaus soothed, reaching over and ruffling the mass of curls that made up his hair. He could see that the Priest was wrapping up, so he kept talking, offering a short chuckle. " – You want to know my middle name? Millicent. _Yeah_. That's one thing the ADVENT wanted posters won't tell you. Kept that a dark secret."

"It is done." Hecate announced, her psi-amp dimming as she settled it back into it's sling on her back. The wound had closed, with a faint trace of psi-energy still lingering on the thigh in flickering after-images, though only truly visible to her eye. Miles glances down at it in surprise and awe before he swiftly cringed once he tried to put weight on it.

" – Don't put stress on your leg. You need to recover naturally." she admonishes.

"Webnar, take the child and the Mystic to the wounded camp." Mox instructed, having stood on watch during the process, Elena in tow. He looked grave, as she had took the time to mention her mounting fear of the psionic presence during their rounds. " – Outrider, Clacher and I shall continue clearing out the AO. Join back with us when you believe it is most safe."

Klaus nodded, then scooped down for Miles. " – Alright, kiddo. Arms around my shoulders now, that's a good lad."

Miles complied, clinging onto the Ranger tightly as he lifted him up and supported his weight easily with one arm, freeing up his hand for a sidearm in the off-chance they did run into trouble whilst heading out of the besieged haven. Hecate fell into step beside them as Klaus headed westward, leaving the two operatives alone.

" – _I've re-positioned further up._ " Clacher mentions once Klaus left over the radio. " _… still got no sight of any enemies. Almost like they were hidin', if you ask me._ "

Mox routinely checked his ammunition as he stepped forth. Although he trusted Clacher's sight and word, the continuing destruction proved that they knew where to find them, if they wanted to run straight into a firefight with two men lighter. They simply had to plan to outsmart them.

"There is more here than what Shen's diagnostics told." coolly Elena repeats as they progress northward where the smoking main building of the matriarch's den lay. " – Don't tell me you can't feel it."

"I don't have a concept of anxiety or stress. Not in the way you describe." he admits, gesturing her to halt at a set of stacked tires, both pairs of eyes scoping out the sight of ruined buildings and downed structures alike. "But I trust your sight, Outrider. If you say there is something lurking, I believe you."

Elena fell in a contemplative silence. Despite the differences she had with Mox in the past, she never expected unequivocal trust outside of the Reapers, where she had proven herself, least of all from a Skirmisher. On a better day, she might've enjoyed to entertain the thought, but for now she kept her eyes forward and scoped ahead.

She didn't have to move far from Mox, cursing thickly under her breath once she slammed herself quickly down behind a stable high wall, counting the beats in her head before it was safe enough to assume that the creature hadn't spotted her. She signaled for her squad lead to halt, whispering quietly over the line.

"Codex. On it's own."

Mox slid towards some cover further back from Elena, but even from so far away he could spot the wisps of reality twitching and shuddering in the presence of the dimensional creature. The Codex, when not alerted or utilizing it's combat protocols, moved slowly and scanned the area with it's lamp-like eyes. It hadn't even formed a body; merely an orange, prismatic shell that shifted violently between various shapes of vague humanoids.

Mox switched over to the channel linked directly to the Bridge of the Avenger. " – Menace to Central. Awaiting approval to engage. Should I deploy the Skulljack?"

* * *

"Receiving you, Menace." Bradford informed, standing a tier lower on the deck, staring at the same information that Kingsley was no doubt digesting. She hadn't spoken a word since she arrived on the bridge, patiently watching the operation like a hawk and allowing her XO to slip in and handle the technicalities of the mission. He'd always been the voice for her orders, after all. "Stand by. Do not engage until you have our say so."

He turned his head towards the Commander, hands naturally falling to parade rest as their gazes met. It didn't shock him to find that her face held a mask of impersonal indifference. When leading, one had to be. He took her silence as a prompt to offer his advice.

" – If Skulljacking the Officer spawned the Codices out from hiding in the first place, we can make a reasonable assumption that jacking the Codex might create more of it, or pull out something far nastier than it."

Kingsley's eyes drift to Lily Shen.

"The virus is designed to gradually overload the system as it's deployed. This is to prevent them trying to trace the jack back to us." Lily starts, arms folding in front of her with just a hint of pride in her voice. " – Eventually it's just going to eat up all the CPU of the Codex and render that particular unit useless. In conclusion? Quite an efficient way to pick off a Codex without having to worry about it's psionic powers if we weren't after the data in it's head."

She meets the Commander's level gaze with her own. "But.. that's not getting into what sort of anti-viruses the Codex can deploy. I studied what I can from the unit we got from the Blacksite, but without the Shadow Chamber in an operable state, I can't conduct further research. It's a risk if you want to chance a quick kill for the unknown or try to take that thing down manually with three operatives."

Kingsley gripped at the railings, studying the visuals of the live feed and the Codex sweeping the area. She assessed if the risk was worth the reward of the information that dangled in front of them like a carrot on a stick. Her leadership skills had always been put to question given her stubbornness and seemingly lack of risk assessment in the past, but it wasn't because she'd not considered the alternatives.

She was aware of her rapidly declining health. It was optimistic to believe she had five years to beat the aliens. With their own plans – and her deterioration, she might not even have _one_. Her brows furrowed deeply. She didn't often ponder her own mortality, not when the lives of others were constantly balanced on her shoulders. Why now, of all the crux moments?

Kingsley pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache flaring along her temples. Of course. She was becoming quite adept at differentiating between a natural headache and one induced by psionics. This was most definitely the latter. With Feng out of commission from the Blacksite – and her mistrust in Hecate – she hadn't the chance to finally sit down and address her own concerns with the Elder-tampered power within.

It was growing in a way that was harming her. Had she been younger and with more endurance, she might of tolerated the gestating power. She darkly wonders if it wasn't merely a ticking time bomb planted as an ultimate failsafe by the Elders. A last _hurrah_ , or a statement that said if they couldn't have her, nobody could.

She felt Bradford's gaze trace across her hunched form and slowly, Kingsley wiped a hand down her face, straightening respectfully after directing the communications channel to broadcast her order. "Menace, this is the Commander. I am authorizing you to Skulljack the Codex."

"Yes, Commander." his voice filters in. She watched his grapnel be deployed, shooting across the length of the field and piercing through the shimmering, orange shell of the Codex, yanking it towards his person. Before the dimensional creature could teleport off, it shrieked a long pitch-high note of electronic agony when the Skulljack stabbed through to it's cortex.

Lily was immediately at the console. " – The Codex is identifying the Skulljack.. and… I think we're successful! It's seeing the virus as one of the administrators! Good, that should give us access too – "

"Lily.." Bradford whispered, agape as his concern rapidly mounted. " – What is that thing doing?!"

The engineer looked up, just in time to see the Codex implode into a bright, blinding white light that shorted out the visuals of the live feed and scrambled the life signs of the operatives, leaving them with a glitching, hostile mess the techies frantically scrambled to sort out.

A loud thud caught Bradford's attention – and he disregarded protocol the second he saw Kingsley on the deck's floor, abject horror stitched onto her face and a thin trail of blood dripping from her nostril. He threw himself to her side, easing the back of her head upwards and a low bud of panic needling in his chest when she was unresponsive.

"Shit – _**shit**_!" he swore, maneuvering Kingsley's body into the recovery position as he looked around. "Lily, page Tygan to get up here!"

"Already done, sir," she absentmindedly threw over her shoulder, abandoning the terminal in favour for the communications consoles, attempting to assist the techies with fixing it, worry chiselling her features.

"I don't know if you want to hear about worst case scenarios right now … but it's quite possible the Codex took full control of our communications systems. Thankfully it seems to be an isolated incident, but – "

Bradford could feel a headache of his own brewing. "You're right, I do not want to hear this. Get it fixed!"

"On it."

* * *

Mox was tossed aside by the force of the implosion; the shattered chips of the Codex's outer shell slicing across his armour. Elena moved to assist him, but found herself morbidly enraptured by the swirling purple vortex that pulsated before them. Rings of psionic energy looped in of itself, bending the very fabric of reality. It was hell on her eyes, even with her mask.

A shadow eclipsed the epicenter of the void before a humanoid shape began to appear into view. It took an almost, _tentative_ step – the presence of power palpable in the air like a star going supernova. Something emerged from the void, bearing a mocking resemblance of humanity. Elena found herself unable to look away. The rifle in her hand quivered as she stared.

The human-like entity wore a sleek suit of deep grey armour; with lancing purple emblazoned at the sides of the plackart, a full covering opaque facial mask and a set of ethereally alive white hair that reached for the sky. They turned their head, experimentally, like a newborn consuming in the sights of the world they had just been unleashed in.

Their hand outstretched, each finger drawing to their palm, one thumb pulled close into a tight fist, before their fingers splay. Psionic energy ripples throughout each digits and arcs across the psi-powered gauntlet. Reality bent the knee to them, but when their power relaxes, mercifully, it shuddered placating.

Elena stared at the after-images of the Elder controlling the human like a puppet master. It flashed in her mind's eye in fits and starts, a being wreathed with so much energy that her brain groaned in protest at processing it all. Regal cloth that traveled for the length of the void itself and ornate masks that enclosed their heads – less like royal crowns, more akin to burdening cages that they willingly bear.

" _Elena Dragunova."_

Her panic mounted into direct fight or flight. A Reaper knew when they were the prey. They knew when to leave well enough alone. He grip on her rifle never wavered, but faced with such overwhelming urge to seek the shadows once again, she found herself drawing away from the entity. It regarded her – the weight of it's attention threatening to asphyxiate the air out of her lungs.

She contemplated the dark. Very much in favour for abandoning the mission to seek her own survival and fight another day. But she glanced at Mox, whom had taken the brunt of the Codex's explosive death. Elena forced herself to remain, righting the rifle's muzzle up towards the puppet.

The Avatar was undeterred. Their hands gesticulate, rippling psi-energy coursing throughout their body in ways that not even the strongest psion could detect, let alone a yearling with a keen eye. She flinched involuntarily when she could not stop the creature sift through her memories with a mere cant of their head towards her.

" – _You have been through so much._ " The voice they possessed was … unnaturally calm. It's tone carried images than inflections. A tranquil garden. Soft and light airiness like a summer's breeze. It was beyond an explanation mere human language could give.

" _You, most of all, have suffered. Do you feel the chill of the chains you have wrapped your heart into? You needn't have to feel the winter any more. Accept the warmth of our embrace._ "

They were so convincing. So, _so_ convincing. Elena wanted to lower her weapon, but her instinct screamed above the racket of their stifling entirety. Her body shook and she squeezed her eyes shut. It didn't matter – their presence was pervasive. Ubiquitous.

She had just begun to feel her grip slip on her rifle when a crack in the distance thundered. The psionic influence shirked back and she gasped sharply, the Avatar's focus now on the bullet they had stopped with a shield. Clacher, having not heard a thing from his squad, had taken the shot.

The Avatar inspected the bullet as it remained in their shield, disappointed. They let it drop to clutter the ground. Elena was struck with the futility of the fighting such a being, especially with the conventional weaponry they had at their disposal. Icy fingers of dread caressed at her mind and her panic returned tenfold, overpowering her wits and sensibility as she choked back a sob and clutched at her head, collapsing to her knees. She hunkered down at the meager bit of cover available to her.

_It's useless,_ a voiceless thought whispered in her mind. _It's useless. Surrender. You won't win. You_ _can't win. Accept_ _t_ _heir mercy. It is the only hope._

There was one operative that the Avatar seemed to be unaware of at the time as Klaus gingerly eyed the scene from his vantage point behind the affair. He couldn't _feel_ the psionic static charging the air, nor did he did perceive the Elder's – or any sort of psionic – influence at all. He never has been able to. His advantage aside, he looked at the facts.

A panicked Reaper, a Sharpshooter out of contact due to the downed communications, an unconscious, or at least heavily disorientated or stunned squad lead, a missing Mystic as she worked on the camp of survivors, no contact with the higher command up at the Avenger and himself as the sole functioning operative – versus an effigy with more psionic power than he could even begin to fathom.

Klaus swallowed thickly, feeling like David when he went up against Goliath.


	33. Goliath

The summoning of the Avatar was felt throughout the globe – the Earth itself _shuddered_ at their arrival. To the psionically sensitive, it was stifling, overwhelmingly oppressive, no matter how much the Elders assured that their love was warm and their embrace caring; it bore a heavier weight than any cast iron chain.

Dhag-Il had returned to the outskirts of the haven after he had sabotaged the Commander overhead. Were he a lesser creature, his manipulations would've fallen off from the distance between the Avenger and ground level – but he prided himself in his strength and abilities. For if it was the Elders' will; it would be enacted, no matter what was asked of him.

His hesitation hadn't left him, however – and that in turn set his Priests' teeth on edge. Being so close and linked so intimately, his aura radiated a discomfort that remained unexpressed in his flinty stare. He heard with acute clarity the whispers of his master that controlled the effigy. It wasn't meant for him, but listening to the intricate webweave of Their lies and manipulations dawned a slow-realizing epiphany that he'd rather not come to terms to face.

He pushed aside such thoughts, as he much preferred to cling to Their holy, faultless image instead. Humans – Resistance especially – did not deserve to bask in Their greatness, even if the assault was little more than a testing environment to retrieve performance data on the current iteration of Their creation.

The Warlock's lips twitch, catching a shimmer in the corner of his eyes. His Priests did not alert him, likely a little quiet and engulfed by the sheer influence of Them, but he was not so incapacitated. His arms folded in front of him, silent, before finally outing her.

"I should have expected you would be drawn here, sister."

The air was still and silent, as if pausing at her behest, before Jax-Mon dropped the psionic shroud. It slipped from her like a silk veil and it took a moment for his accompanying adjuncts to process she'd arrived – summarily shifting to a genuflect and murmuring their respects in unison. She paid the Twins no attention, however, slipping to her elder's side, staring awestruck to the destruction.

"How could I not?" she softly states, surprisingly non-confrontational. Her fingers itch with the energy in the air and she could taste the static that clung in psionic after-images. She knew her presence here breaks the very rules she set out to forge between them with the territories, but she hoped that in concerns of the Elders, they were above such rules.

Dhag-Il, mercifully, shared the sentiment and did not find a way to slander her. His gaze reluctantly tears from the scene to throw a glance to his younger sister, lips pursed into a thin line of consternation, drinking in the gentle wonder that settled on her face. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought her _shy_ in Their almighty presence, no matter how distant They were right now.

"You may remain and watch." he allows, snapping her attention to him as he resumes monitoring the scene, seeing more than she was able to thanks largely by his psionic mastery, filtering the images of the Avatar's progress to his mind's eye. " – But attempt to interfere and I will not hesitate to send you to the void."

_Like a child sentenced to her room._ He adds, unsaid. Still, after weeks of her birth, she was little more than a wide-eyed infant to him.

She presented him with a slash of sharp teeth that might've come across as a _smile,_ but he could feel her impatience bleed from her psionic aura. Jax-Mon was built with grace in mind; with subtlety and honour, yet here she stood testy, wishing to seek their master out. To be so close and yet so far was a cruel and unusual punishment. Barely a minute passes when she finally caves, turning to him as she often did – though not so in recent times – for his font of knowledge and advice.

"Why must our master be alone? We are Their children. We should be fighting side to side; setting the example of the sainthood we embody." It was mildly amusing for Dhag-Il to think that she may have been _begging_ for his permission. She continued, unable to perceive his thoughts. " – After all, is that not what They wish of us, brother?"

"Father wishes to have an unobstructed test of the Avatar's capabilities." the Warlock tells, mollifying her to silence as she hangs onto his every word. Ah, he did miss her loyalty, even if it may never have been his to begin with. Getting involved into Dhag-Mai's schemes was never a good practice, no matter how innocuous or beneficial they turned out to be. He sowed chaos and reaped destruction with every plot, every cloak-and-dagger operation.

He fights the urge to shake his head to clear his thoughts, finishing his point; " – And they cannot have that if we are to assist them. Even the rebel's knowledge that we are present may involuntarily colour the results they are after. So we will remain – and we will observe."

He half expected an utterance of protest, an errant ' _But_!' – luckily for him, Jax-Mon was more dignified than that, content to shift her weight tersely between her feet, head raised and eyes squinting down at the squalor and ramshackle shelters below. Her body lowers, legs cross and hands falling naturally to her knees in her meditative position, keen senses picking up things he could only imagine.

Jax-Mon deliberated several thoughts; mind racing. She had still yet to introduce her plan of assaulting the Avenger to her elder and yet in the face of the Avatar's test, it seemed so inconsequential, so insignificant. She couldn't tarnish this day with her agenda – but she also could not sit and remain idle for long. She rubbed at her knees absent-minded and briefly cast her gaze upwards to catch her brother staring distantly to the burning horizon.

"What if They fail?"

He blinked, gaze whipping harshly down. " _– I beg your pardon?_ "

Of course Dhag-Il heard her clearly, but he was shocked to hear her of all people doubt their master. True, he had thought much the same – he wasn't blind to the possibility of failure, especially with something so temperamental and unfinished as the construct. But he'd rather not have _**her**_ think anything other than high regard for their masters.

To her credit, not an ounce of shame settled on her statuesque face. No, it was chiselled into a hard focus, cat-like eyes narrowed into near slits of concentration. " – The Avatar. What if They fail? The Commander – there was a reason They picked her of all humans on this miserable planet. So long as she is at the helm, there exists a chance, however slim."

The Warlock settles down, relaxes at her reasoning and dismisses it with a mere wave of his gauntlet. "Commander Kingsley will be of no issue to our master. I have ensured that the.. testing environment is as to their liking as possible."

Jax-Mon warily regarded him, but begrudged to believe that her elder brother wouldn't sabotage the Elders' vision for the Commander, unlike her older. She wet her lips, tone measured; "And failure?"

He rolled back his shoulders. "Can you not sense the humans' panic, sister? They cannot comprehend the vast power our master holds in the mere palm of Their hand. How can they begin to fight the Avatar when they are busy fighting their shadows – battling their own mind?"

The Assassin resisted the urge to sneer at his flippant disregard of humanity's tendency to best the odds, prompting her to mention; " – The sharpshooter is too far from Their influence and my senses tell me that one shadowy operatives fear is not due to psionic manipulation. He is.. unaffected by our master."

"The rookie is cut from his squad and the human male **will** fall by Their hand." he said in finality. "That, I am _certain_ of."

* * *

Trembling, numb fingers trace across his shotgun as performing a routine weapon check seemed to be the only thing that Klaus could think to do when faced with such monumental odds. He might have had the advantage of stealth – but for how long? Did the Avatar already know he was there and simply biding their time to draw out his death or.. whatever it is they wanted from their squad?

White static filled the dead radio channel as communications remained down. Contacting Clacher was impossible – and the Avenger even more so. The only thing at his disposal was his fists, his weapons and an emergency distress beacon to signal for Firebrand. The loud, thundercrack of a flare would certainly alert everything in the vicinity of his presence, so he chalked that up as a last resort.

… Oh, who was he kidding. He was on his _last resort._

Klaus peered from around the burnt, crumbled cover, watching the back of the effigy. Their steps were light – ethereally slow, too regal for the air itself to tarnish it's gait – moving towards the panicked Reaper hunkered down behind a set of tires. Straining his ears, he picked up that Elena was muttering to herself, but other than that, she remained immobile.

He cringed openly when the Avatar spoke; the psionic voice hitting each of their minds even if they only intend to address those that they see. For the Ranger, it lacked clarity; sounding in no better quality than the blown out speakers the Resistance was used to; if that speaker was submerged underwater, too.

" … _Do you see the futility of your ways, Elena Dragunova. Pratal Mox?_ " they crooned, stopping before the fallen Skirmisher and nudging him from his front to his back, eliciting a long, drawn-out groan of pain from the stunned hybrid. He was unaware of the gravity of the situation; staring up dazedly at the being that loomed above.

" – _You were useful to us once, Mox. Your worth may still yet be restored._ "

Their hand moves towards him, wreathed in vivid psionic purple. Reality bent in fragmentation at their fingertips and although Klaus had no name for what they were doing – he recognized it as one of those rifts that brought their arrival. They was going to teleport Mox elsewhere. Taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he vaulted over the cover and bolted towards the Avatar, shotgun raised.

They turned to face him, rift twisting more solidly, coalescing into raw power before being flung from their hand into his chest. It was a solid impact – something he felt ghost through his bones and every fibre of his muscles – throwing him to the ground to a skidding halt. He heaved a ragged breath, his chest tight and vision starry. It wasn't as painful as his expectation of it was, yet somehow it managed to gnaw at him insidiously.

" _Klaus Webnar._ " the Avatar hissed with little, apparent love for him over the two faction envoys. He tried to pick himself up but was flattened by a tangible, invisible weight pressing onto his spine and compressing each and every disc within it. He stifled whimpering pain by biting his tongue, blackly glaring up at the creature.

He could feel their gaze roam over him several times over, their psionic, probing tendrils nudging at his mind and finding no purchase against the titanium-plate of his past injury. His face scrunched up, nonetheless, as he distinctly got the impression that his privacy was invaded, no matter how unsuccessful the Avatar was. It gave them pause – and soon they seemed quite interested in him.

" _A human… growing resistant to psi-energy, potentially aided by man-made creations... ?"_ they mused aloud. Klaus felt his entire body shiver at their regard. _" – You will_ _make an_ _excellent_ _subject_ _for_ _our study._ "

"I don't feel like being dissected and autopsied, thanks." he croaked, shifting his gun to face the Avatar's leg. He may not have been able to move, but his arms and hands functioned, one that he promptly made use of by getting a clean shot at their thigh. The banshee shriek of their wailing cry pierced his ears sharp enough to make him nauseous, but interestingly enough the pressure of their psionic attack waned – and the Avatar's energy consumed them, transporting them elsewhere.

Klaus knew better than to think them dead.

Fumbling for the distress beacon, he cast his gaze hurriedly to the sky, gauging the distance that the Skyranger would need. Firebrand chewed them out for the less-than-optimal placements of their evacuation zones, but something tells him she'd know to keep well enough silent on such a travesty of a mission. He backed up to as much of an open clearing in the densely packed shelters he could, pointing the flare gun in the air and letting it loose.

The fire whistled in the air, burning bright blue before fizzling out indifferently. Klaus stared at the red beacon, praying that the emergency systems were still operational back at the Avenger. He could've collapsed in relief when the beacon flashed green, indicating Firebrand's imminent arrival. He stabbed the beacon into the marked evacuation zone, freeing up his hands to drag the bewildered, despondent Mox into the zone and tend to Elena. He could only hope that Clacher and Hecate saw the flare and understood what it meant.

"Outrider. Speak to me, Elena." the Ranger urged as he slid around the cover, grasping her upper arms. She didn't seem to even notice he was there, merely muttering lowly to herself in Russian. He gave her a vigorous shake, which did at least get her to look at him, but she was clearly still so distressed.

"It was my fault," she weakly told him. Klaus' brows steepened in confusion. " – It's my fault. I left him. I only – I had to survive. It was kill or be killed, you don't understand, we.. we couldn't have known it was an ambush!"

"Sweetheart, get it together, you're not making any sense. Look at me." Klaus isn't even sure she's entirely aware of what he was saying, her gaze seemingly kept sliding off of his face to stare blankly into her hands; face wet from tears that had shed without her knowledge, mask thrown aside in her stress. " – We're extracting, okay, I need you to watch over Mox. You're stronger than some namby-pamby psionic bastard."

The panicked Reaper merely tugged her coat tighter around her person, knuckles bone white and body trembling. Klaus attempted to pull her over towards the marked point, but she stubbornly refused to move, heels dug roughly into the ground.

"Extracting." she echoes, eyes cloudy. " – I-I can't leave him again. Not a second time. I should face the darkness head on instead of running away from it."

"Forgive me for this," he murmured to her before his arms roughly wrap around her midsection, hoisting the Reaper up with ease. At the very least, she didn't fidget or flail in protest – being nothing more than a dead weight to him. Klaus carried her towards the extraction point, settling her nicely beside Mox. She slumped to the floor, cradling her knees and he could feel his chest tighten in sympathy.

Once they were far, far away from that psionic puppet, hopefully her wits would return to her. Addled with the Avatar's panic spell, she wasn't any more useful than a doorstop in a firefight. Klaus paced a little, keeping his eyes to the sky and cursing under his breath.

"Come on, Firebrand.." He pitifully glanced outward to the mass of rural settlements. "Clacher.. shit! _The Priest!_ "

He smacked his head and groaned into his palm. Of course, Hecate was still tending to the wounded far out from the haven. He'd like to think she was largely safe there, but without a Commander to assure him of what to do and his own insecurities of assuming a squad-leading position, he isn't sure that simply _leaving_ her was the correct decision to make.

Nor was leaving the two faction envoys alone when Lord-knows what else still lurked out there, Avatar not withstanding. Klaus paced, uncertain for the longest time. It was a good thing he did seem to be somewhat resistant to the psionic attacks – he would've ended up worse than Elena if his anxiety was preyed upon.

Swallowing it and ignoring the rising bile at the back of his throat, Klaus decided that even if he remained, there was no guarantee he could protect the envoys on his own. He squatted down to be eye-level with Elena, hands resting strongly on her shoulders and trying one last, hopeful attempt to shake her out of the madness.

It didn't do anything.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Klaus helped himself to the spare claymore attached to her belt and the extra grenade from Mox's satchel. He figured they were not in any state of mind to use the armaments and he was going to need all the explosive advantage he could get if he came across the Avatar during his trek to fetch and escort Clacher.

The Ranger tried to move as swiftly as possible, dashing through the rubble, keeping his head ducked low and his body close to the ground as he sprinted. He'd run marathons before, during his time in a splinter Resistance faction of his hometown before XCOM picked him up, but never had the stakes ever been quite so high. He rounded the corner and he had moments to react to the patrolling Officer and Stun Lancer.

The butt of his shotgun slammed hard and fast into the Officer's face, smashing her nose broken behind her helmet. The ADVENT soldier staggered back; orange blood coating her lower face and intense pain momentarily disorientating her. There was a short delay in reaction from the Lancer as he moved to draw his baton, but at that point, Klaus righted the shotgun at his chest and fired.

At such a close range, he might as well be as accurate as the Hunter. He flinched as the meld-laced plasma splattered across his kevlar, forcing himself to ignore the screams of death. He pumped the spent shell out, whipping the gun around and putting the Officer out of her misery.

Klaus' heart thudded in increasing tempo; the fear of the Avatar still out there having not eased his nerves one bit. He couldn't afford to get twitchy now. It was dumb luck it was an ADVENT patrol – but what if it was Clacher he'd rounded on?

He wiped his face clean of the blood, even if he didn't really do much but smear it. He made sure his shotgun was reloaded before pushing onward, this time with decidedly less haste and more caution. Unfortunately, fate had other ideas in store for him and a black curse flung from his lips as an intense headache managed to break through the otherwise impenetrable psionic resistance he'd had up to that point. Perhaps they figured a way of breaching past the plate in his head. Either or, Klaus didn't like it.

" _How_ _ **dare**_ _you kill two of our children!_ " Oh, they were _pissed_. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. Klaus blearily looked up, cringing at the purple-clad figure of the Avatar. Their psionics, however, seared like a burning sunset, arcing up their arms, their feet inches above the floor; elevated by the sheer Power that they held.

"Children!?" Klaus repeated, incredulous both at himself for actually speaking to them and at the Avatar's words. " – Oh get the moral superiority stick o _ut of your ass_! What kind of parent do you purport to be if you send your so called children out to kill and die for you?"

Needless to say, the Elder controlling the effigy was not amused.

Klaus dived to the side, sucking in a sharp breath of air as the ground where he stood moments prior erupted into an inferno of burning psionic energy; like the smite of God. Even being so close to it, he felt the wafts of energy breeze over his skin and he squirmed. The sensation of being eaten alive was not pleasant, even if nothing remained on his skin but hair and raised goosebumps.

" _You know NOTHING of our ways._ " they hissed, all pretension of a loving, caring guardian lost in the heat of battle. The Elder bared their true colours like venomous fangs; spiteful, hateful – dripping with untold _hubris_.

All traits that the Chosen embodied, that they exemplified. With a mere wave of their hand, the metal sheets he used as cover unhinged from the ground, tossed aside like rubble in the wind, crashing with reckless abandon rather than the grace and elegance they tried to wear as a mask. In such a raw moment, Klaus was privy to the primal rage that fueled the spite-driven creature of the void.

" _P_ _athetic, lowly human_ _s_ _like you are unable to comprehend our greater vision. The existence of_ _which_ _hold back the true ascension that await you all!"_

Klaus levels a good shot, but the Avatar erected a psionic shield that caught the shotgun's spit and discarded it to the cluttered ground. He rolls to the balls of his feet, intending to bolt towards newfound cover that he spotted flanking the puppet when he was stopped dead in his tracks by a psionic grip enclosing around his throat.

He chokes out, hands instinctively clawing at the invisible grasp. The Avatar's hand mimicked the tightness of the grip with every inch closer their fingers folded towards their palm. It was a disconnect for his mind to realize that he wasn't actually being physically held, forcing the instinct to continue tugging at the wrist that simply wasn't there to the sidearm on his hip.

The shot wasn't perfect; grazing, really – but it was enough to mess up the Avatar's concentration and free him from their grasp. Psionics ripple across their sleek armour and they allow themselves to be enveloped in the void, teleporting them to a better position. Klaus took this time to hunker towards the cover he'd spotted earlier, gingerly rubbing at his sore neck, even if no wounds or injury really were there.

He reached for the claymore he'd pilfered from Elena's belt, palming it carefully. He knew his cover wouldn't be safe for long as the effigy tore up the place, pushing a force outward to send all of the loose debris crowding the area out, gaze snapping to Klaus once he was uncovered. Or, more accurately, the claymore he tossed in their direction.

Naturally, they stopped it from connecting with their body, but Klaus was more interested in getting the explosive as close as possible before shooting it with his sidearm. The resulting combustion was mighty and the heat scorching a flash sweat across his face – though it all paled in comparison to the high-pitched, dual-toned vocal dissonance of the Elder's cry of agony, rivaling that to the first time he'd sent them packing.

They screamed in his mind so piercingly, so harrowingly, that he was sure his ears may have been bleeding. It left them ringing with a persistent white noise like a stun grenade had went off directly in his face, minus the blurred vision. Momentarily deafened, he waded through the rubble to see the Avatar's burnt, ruptured body twitching on the floor. But the puppet still lived; psi-energy attempting to stitch sinew to sinew – even the alien alloys of it's plated armour began to fix itself.

Klaus did not have any mercy. He pointed his shotgun and fired it into their head. He fired again.

And again.

And _again_.

Until his spent all of his shells and nothing was left but a caved, indeterminable bloody mess of what was once nondescript features and flowing hair. The body ran through it's spasmodic throes of death even still and the Ranger pumped one extra clip into his shotgun and fired directly where it's heart lay. It didn't seem to accomplish anything, but the Avatar was not making any move to rejuvenate.

The after-image of the Elder that flowed behind the puppet had vanished once he'd vanquished the Avatar. He.. assumed, it was dead. It had to be. He fell to his knees in relief, running a shaky hand through the stringy blonde locks of his hair.

As he stood up, shotgun slung over his shoulder, back turned and hobbling towards where they last left Clacher, Klaus did not notice the flicker in reality as a Codex slipped into their dimension, gathered the Avatar in their arms and ghosted out, as silent as it arrived.


	34. Fata Morgana

_Sirens screamed their alarms throughout the lowlit base; power running solely on the backup internal generator from the hit they'd took to the main, external supply. Heavy footfalls of soldiers and personnel alike scrambled heedless of orders; taking up arms or scurrying off to wherever emergency protocols dictated them to be._

_Commander Kingsley weaved through the steady stream of mobilized men, forced to balance herself to a nearby wall as another shot from outside ruptured throughout the base and caused the infrastructure to shake threateningly. The commotion in turn set the child resting on her hip off; his pitched, piercing crying wails adding to the growing din of noise._

_"Shhh, shh.." she attempted to soothe, sheltering the infant with her body, making sure that all the baby could see was her strained, tired face rather than what was behind her. She bounced the baby up to her arms, pressing a hasty, motherly kiss to his tear-stained face. " – Don't cry, Isaac. It's okay, it's okay …"_

_Resting Isaac's head onto her shoulder and letting him sob his heart out against her uniform top, Kingsley threw a heated glance over towards the masses; identifying faces as they pass. She fumbled with her free hand, trying to reach for communications only to swear loudly as – of course, there was no signal._

_At the very least, the men had the good sense to leave her warpath unobstructed as she marched through the stampede, brows drawn in frustration as the sirens only served to add to her mounting headache. How did the aliens find out where their base was located? Despite herself, her mind combed over all the names that had been let go of the XCOM project, either due to the support being pulled or misconduct. Too many names._

_Maybe the aliens were really that advanced. A simple bioscan of the area; targeting the most likely places where human life signatures congealed underground could pick out their little bunker with ease. Kingsley didn't like dealing with unknown possibilities and the entire war – really, what a joke to call it that, it was a bloodbath – was full of them. Honestly, what did the Council expect her to do? She performed miracles buying them two months worth of time though nobody can win a war in such a short time frame. They needed **years**._

_And that voice, once they discovered where they were. That irritatingly velvet voice that seemed to caress every inch of her mind when it whispered within. It offered such lurid promises of ending the war, the assault on her base and the prevention of millions dead – if, she surrendered herself. A deep, heavy frown set on her lips._

_**Why**? She had asked. What use do you have for a prisoner of war?_

_She remembered it laughing; a sort of tinkling sound of clinking wind chimes and the soft brush of clean fur – Dorothy tried not to think so long on how it conveyed as such; her mind was already hurting – but she received no answer other than it did not expect Earth to last as long as one day, let alone two months. It – or They, as they referred to themselves as – were interested in the tenacity of humanity. Or perhaps, maybe, the audacity of **her**._

_Kingsley clutched the infant tight to her as an explosion rippled through the base; further exposing their bunker with a gaping hole to the ground level, allowing the shock troops of their forces to pour through. Little feral creatures that Doctor Vahlen had called 'Sectoids' assisted by much bigger and heavily armed and armoured handlers known as the 'Mutons.' stormed in._

_Securing the baby with one arm and tugging out her handgun with the other, she leveled the muzzle of it to an approaching Sectoid that paused once it recognized the shooter as a person of interest to their Ethereal masters. Purple energy coalesced around their cranium and caused their bug-like eyes to glow; only for it to turn muted and dulled once she shot a direct hit between the eyes. The crack of the gun only caused the baby to scream louder; but necessity to protect overtook comfort._

_The dead Sectoid fell limp, but where one fell, three more were waiting to take their place. Kingsley bared her teeth; face twisted into a snarl of protective rage that fumbled when the three aliens dropped to the floor one after another. The Commander glanced up –_

_" – John." she breathed. Her XO pumped the shotgun's spent shell, his trademark sweater and administrative slacks traded for whatever kevlar was lounging around in the barracks. He seemed to have a bit of all sorts on his person; ordinance, sidearms, even a combat knife. He looked grim, and ten years older than he actually was, but quickly joined to fall beside her nonetheless._

_"We have to get you to evacuation, Commander," he said, even still not circumventing the chain of command._

_"John. Listen to me. There is no way to win this war – " At his hardening look, her tone bit harder. " – There is only **one** way of ending this and it's not going to be through fighting, not unless you want to cull the entirety of the human population. The.. leader, spoke to me. I've found that their terms are acceptable.. and an inevitability."_

_John stared at her, though this really was not the time and place to start discussing a plan of action, especially when he shoved her behind him and drove the butt of his shotgun into a Thin Man that had sneaked towards them, kicking him back and away to land a solid buck into his chest. Safely away; the poison cloud emitted from the ruptured venom glands served only to hurt the pouring alien army._

_He took Kingsley by the free arm, beginning to tug her away from the scene and towards the evacuation point when she wrenched free and instead gave him the crying Isaac to hold._

_"Commander – "_

_She shook her head, offering a pained smile to her child before it vanished when settling to her XO. "I'm sorry, John. I have decided on a course of action that minimizes the global risk to the planet. I was made Commander to end this war as humanely as possible and that is what I am going to do."_

_It begun to dawn on him just what exactly she was about to do and he decided to toss chain of command straight out the window; " – Dorothy! If you think I'm just going to leave you here to, what? Surrender yourself to death? Whatever they have in store for you? Then you don't know me at all. I'm not letting you do this."_

_Kingsley laughed, empty, leaning forward to only plant a kiss ontop the baby's head before drawing away and offering that same, mirthless smile to him once again. "Please, make sure my son lives. That's an **order** , Central."_

_Bradford wanted to do – something. Protest. Maybe even drag her along for her own good. But the squirming wailing of the child in his arms decided his course of action for him, and he sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath. His instincts to protect; especially his friend, forced his heart to hammer loudly against his chest, but he knew that there was no convincing Dorothy. Securing the babe with one arm and exchanging his shotgun for a weapon he can wield with one hand, he drove into the crowd of soldiers and aliens alike._

_Kingsley closed her eyes briefly, finding a middling, serene calm into her choice. When she opened them, her eyes burned with the fury of suns and her gun ensured to showcase her internalized rage well. Yes, she had agreed to give up herself in exchange for the Alien's peace, but she was damn well not going to simply go quietly. If they wanted her, they would have to drag her kicking and screaming._

_She fought hard and well, barking out commands to the few personnel that remained, ordering infantry to back away to extraction once they had successfully held back the force long enough to extract most non-combat participants. Soon enough, it stood that she was the sole soldier against the advancing force._

_It was a Muton that rushed forward, recklessly driving it's plasma weapon upwards, slamming the hard alien metal up against her chin. The hit disorientated her; gun cast from her hand as she stumbled back; knocking to the floor entirely by the shock troop's kick to her gut. Kingsley scrambled for her weapon – grunting as the alien pressed it's foot against her chest and kept her still. Warily and yet still with a rising panic, a Thin Man holding a strange device began to approach –_

* * *

" – The Commander is beginning to wake up. Central, please, do not crowd her. Allow her some space."

A long drawn out groan escaped past Kingsley's lips as her consciousness slipped out of the dream and crashed into the weightiness of reality. Her eyes felt heavy, as if glued shut, her limbs dead. She could see the shift of blinding light as shadows of surrounding people squirmed across her vision. Her lids fluttered and she blearily looked. _Glasses._ her taxed brain supplied in the midst of all the jumble of incoherent processing; _No.. lost them, after the aliens …_

Then, bit by bit, she began recalling her dream; her brows slowly drawing to furrow sharply, ignoring the people around her. She could see their lips moving, though sound, if it escaped; was muffled and drowned. Slowly, she recognized the features of the faces above her, which in turn let her pin names to them. Her hand, shaking and wrinkled raised, burrowing her fingers into the fabric of Bradford's collar and yanking him closer towards her with more force than he expected.

"Where is my baby." Her voice, although broken and pushed through a dry throat and slightly slurred, conveyed an undercurrent of such intense anger it threatened to rival the discovery of the chip Tygan had recovered. Bradford, whom prided himself in knowing the Commander and what she was capable of, shirked a little under her withering, not-all-there glare.

Confusion knitted in the muscles of his face; lips parting, though no answer came at first as he racked his mind to try and understand which child she spoke of. "What? Dottie, please – you've just come out of it, you're not – "

"I am going to ask you again," she cautioned in a tone of deathly calm, belaying the storm that brewed. "– and if you answer me with anything other than what I have asked then I will _discharge_ and _dismiss_ you, Central Officer Bradford. Where. _Is_ _ **Isaac**_."

At first, the prospect of being dismissed from service tensed his body up like he was put in front of a drill instructor for the first time. But her question threw him off-guard; a theatre of emotions flashing across his face, shown only by the twitching muscle in his neck and the clenching of his jaw. Of all the times to inquire about the child she'd entrusted to him twenty years ago.. It drudged up a lot of painful memories – buried ones. Being so occupied about the war, to think that his friend's son had simply slipped his mind..

But there wasn't any chance for it, was there? To remember that there was actually a life outside of the warfare they gamed. He understood that there wasn't. Kingsley certainly did – so why concern herself with it now? Bradford tugged himself out of her weakening grip, using the safety railings aside the infirmary bedside to lean on; head hung in a moment of silence.

"I don't know." he aired, taking a rare moment of gruffness to his Commander. "The evacuation.. didn't go so smoothly. I tried to get him to Lisa, I really did. But I – I lost him in transit."

"And you never once thought to tell me. About my own son, who may or may not be dead right now."

Bradford's shoulders squared, and he took a moment to spare a glance over to Tygan. " – Doctor, could you give us a minute?"

Tygan didn't have to be a genius to see the palpable tension in the air, but as there was no dissent from Kingsley, he inclined his head towards them both and nodded respectfully, tucking a datapad in his arm and allowing the two some modicum of privacy. Bradford waited until he believed it was safe to round upon the Commander; concerned – angry; but most of all, stressed.

"With all due _respect_ , Commander," he grounded out, taking a moment to briefly wipe his hand down his face and plant his knuckles against his hips. " – This is not the time, nor the place. You, first and foremost, need to focus on recovering from the psionic stroke you suffered. It's clearly – jogged something in your mind, but regardless, we have a war to fight."

"It was my _**son**_ , John."

" – and many soldiers both on our team and within the havens we've connected with have lost family. I'm – Fuck, Dottie, I'm sorry that you had to learn this way, of all the times. I'd say it's almost deliberate on the alien's part." Bradford exhaled a slow sigh, rubbing his temples. "But right now, our men need you to be the Commander I know you are and..."

He trailed off, hesitant now, losing his steam as the words surfaced to his mind that he refused to contend with. He watched Kingsley's lips draw into a tight purse, though her entire demeanor was bedraggled and exhausted, hand falling slack onto the bed and eyes drifting half-closed. Speaking of time and places, springing this on her was ill-timed and he cursed himself for it. Time was merely not a luxury they had.

"Say it, John." she murmured. Her voice lacked the strength it mustered moments ago; but she urged him nonetheless. She was aware of what he was about to say; perhaps thought the same, word for word. Bradford glanced away, a frown marring his face.

".. And you can't be a leader if you're deliberated at every turn the aliens throw at you. These.. psionics are going to be a quicker death than your own health if we can't find a way to stop them from exploiting it like this." Her brows raised slightly, a little thrown off that was the way he chose to go rather than what she thought. Kingsley fully expected him to point out her decisions, or bring a report that her soldiers were questioning her judgement, but..

Her eyes close and she exhaled a slow sigh through her nose. " … I see."

Bradford tensed, awaiting for her to explode, to continue to grill him on the very real mistake he'd made twenty years ago. Using the current war as an excuse was a justified reason, but he knew that emotions can run high. He'd never stopped beating himself up over it, merely set it aside to tackle more present matters: a tactic he knew that Kingsley employed as well.

"You should have remained the Commander of this operation. XCOM's revival.. this IS your op, John." she mentions lightly after the heavy silence that settled between old friends. He was beginning to shake his head in disagreement when she continued;

" – Let's end this charade, shall we? You and I both know I'm not fit enough to continue leading. This isn't like you pulled me out of retirement for one last heroic _hoorah_ against the aliens. That tank was my _**life support.**_ I'm not saying that I should've stayed in there.. but I should have only been taken on as an advisor."

"You're the only one who can -"

Kingsley flayed him with a look that superseded her weakness, silencing him on the spot.

"I do agree with you that we cannot allow the aliens to continue to have this advantage against us, especially me, because of these.. psionics. I had arranged for Paladin Feng to assist me with these matters, but.. well, the Blacksite had put her out of commission.." Kingsley sighed.

"Once I have recovered, I will dedicate some time with her into studying the best way to go about containing this psionic situation. In the meanwhile, you will be acting as the Commander pro tem for an indefinite amount of time."

Bradford wet his lips, mulling over the plan. It wasn't one he was willing to commit to just yet. Sure, he acted as the Commander during her time within the tank, but he'd never called himself that role officially and actively made sure nobody made the mistake of calling him Commander either. He shifted his weight on the other foot, leaning the majority of it into the bedside railing.

"Is that an order?"

Kingsley eyed him meaningfully, lips drawn into a tight purse. She didn't have to be a psionic to feel the utter tension and anxiety that rolled off of him in waves. It was a surprise he hadn't dived for a cigarette or hit the bottle, though he'd sworn off the latter years ago. Her eyes slowly close; exhaustion seemingly smacking into her like a truck.

"Yes." she said simply; to the point. " – Now, give me an update of what I have missed."

"Thought you were supposed to be recovering."

" _ **John**_."

Bradford leaned away from the railings, retrieving a datapad he'd left hanging perilously on the edge of a terminal, bringing up the mission debrief report that Klaus wrote in Mox's stead. " – After Captain Mox skulljacked the Codex, it summoned some sort of humanoid creature in it's stead. Sergeant Webnar describes the creature like ' _ADVENT, with a full set of hair and enough psionic power to make the Chosen Warlock seem like a pushover._ '"

He paced a little as he debriefed Kingsley; "Webnar continues on to say that the creature didn't act like anything he'd ever seen. He notes there was a distinct presence surrounding it that made no sense to him – almost as if it was being controlled. He managed to neutralize it, but once he returned, there was no body found. He also requested the emergency evacuation and ensured that all operatives were safely on board. Firebrand made a second trip to the area that the wounded and escorted personnel were temporarily using as shelter to pick up Mystic Hecate and a teen going by name Baby Miles."

Kingsley's brows raised a little. " – Why was a child picked up?"

"Miles was the teen that the Denmother had told us about. The one with an aptitude for computer science? Shen will see if she can put him to work, but he's currently sustaining an injury to his leg. Broken." His gaze flicked over the report. " – Doctor Lovett is tending to him and to Dragunova and Mox, as they were rather shaken from the creature's attack. I know you were iffy about letting her get back into work but -"

"… We do need all the help we're going to get, now more than ever." she finished to his nod. Kingsley still couldn't shake the feeling that the whole event with Dawn's capture and rescue struck her the wrong way, if only because of Hornet's recount and the blurry imaging of the brain scans. The doctor did seem to perform to her usual standard, and they'd know if it was a chip of some kind..

Her head pounded in response. Right, yes, recovering. That was what she was supposed to be doing. Sinking deeper into the hospital bed; she tried to force herself to relax; addressing Bradford one last time; " – Well, it's in your hands now, John."

"For now," he reminds her gently.

She smiled a little. He always had faith in her, perhaps zealously so, but she couldn't imagine trying to stage a war without a man like him at her side, as her XO. For now, her greatest battle presently was one of conquering sleep; hopefully a dreamless one.

* * *

"There is certainty, brother – and then there is _blind faith_. I am beginning to think that you may have had the latter."

"Hold your tongue, sister, lest it be cut for the heresy you spew." Dhag-Il scorned, though oddly enough, to the Assassin's senses, it lacked a certain fanatic conviction she knew her elder to have. Her eyes narrowed, tracing over his tense form thrice as she scrutinized every inch of his behavior. It struck her strangely, until there really was one answer for his disposition.

"You _**did**_ expect Them to fail." Jax-Mon notes, almost breathlessly in awe that her elder was capable of reason beyond his zeal. She rose from her crouch as the Warlock remained to keep his arms folded. He stepped away from the incline of the cliff, his Priests trailing after the pair once giving them an appropriate amount of distance. She fell beside him – a step behind. " – But you won't admit it."

"The only thing I fail at is seeing how this line of thought is productive for you."

"We could have interfered – "

"And draw Their anger?" He stopped, whirling to face her, hard disapproval scrawled across the sharp features of his face. She halted in turn, matching his glare with a cool regard. A silent exchange took place; his oppressive psionic aura pressing against her elusive one in casual reminder of the power he wielded before he scoffed. "As I had already told you, it was nothing more than a test. One that has no doubt provided our masters with the information They need."

Jax-Mon's lip curled back to reveal a peek of sharp teeth. Whilst she had not yet had the same epiphany that her elder had, one that he promptly buried in his mind to forget, she did recall with acute clarity the lucidity granted to her in the void, nestled in Their everlasting embrace. It was wrong to say she was becoming disillusioned with Them.. but she was beginning to notice discrepancies between what They preach and what They did.

It prompts her to think of many things. Her project files. Her very conception. The whispered promises They sealed with her when she drifts in that awful inky black of purgatory, of not-quite-death.

Dhag-Il watches his sibling carefully, getting hints of the thoughts that rose to the surface as he skimmed the top of her mind. A dangerous look flashed across his eyes and he growled in warning; " – _**Sister**_."

Jax-Mon rolled her shoulders back and offered a thin smile. "I see you are not open to discussion."

"The Elders' will and whim is non-negotiable and certainly not up for _debate_. I should send you back to the Void for even contemplating such a thing to begin with." He spat.

But _he didn't_ and that was why the Assassin knew her elder was too, harboring doubt. Before she lost his attention any further, Jax-Mon gestures for him. " – Then I will move on. I must admit there are ulterior motives for my arrival here, beside having observed the Avatar in action. There are things that must be discussed."

She adds before he can protest; "Unrelated to our masters, I assure you. No, it involves a plan of mine. I will forewarn Dhag-Mai is aware and apart of it, too."

Dhag-Il paused. "I can't even begin to imagine what sort of scheme you have concocted that would involve Dhag-Mai's willing participation. I suppose that alone merits my interest."

The Assassin's smile only grows. " – Good. Shall we proceed?"


	35. Ghosts

It was strange to roam the hallowed halls of his facility – stranger still to be able to do so welcomed and allowed by her elder.

Weeks – a month or three, really – felt like years upon Jax-Mon's shoulders. In such a short space of time, that was like an eternity to her no less, she served under him as nothing more than a student wishing to conquer the psionic abilities Gods themselves had gifted unto her – to bitter rivals with established, marked territories that accepted none without approval.

For a moment and just a _moment_ , the Assassin could slip into fantasy; that her relationship with her elder was not a rocky train-wreck of duplicity and botched, ham-fisted schemes to tear her asunder. Dare say, she found herself wishing to live this false reality a little longer, plodding along a step behind him respectfully without Dhag-Il implicating her supposed inferiority to him.

But, with all good things; the illusion shriveled up and died the moment they came to halt in one of his many meditation chambers. He took, naturally, to the patterned rug on the highest podium, gesturing for her to take the secondary, lowered one. Her smile dropped; lips pursed, but pushed aside her risen indignation to play along with the idea that she was lesser than he.

Jax-Mon slipped into a crouch first, before easing into her traditional lotus position; though her fingers threaded together and rested on her armoured stomach instead, back rigid straight and body poised perfectly; for she was the personification of elegance and grace. Her elder, on the other hand, represented the might of the Elders; a holy, avenging extension of their will like a fiery, angelic sword. He took to lower to his knees, sitting upon them.

She couldn't imagine it was comfortable; being in full plate, but Dhag-Il gave no sign that his posture irritated him. _A necessary sacrifice to show true reverence to_ _our_ _masters_ , he'd no doubt say. Her smile almost returned for that thought alone, but she composed quickly when his gaze roamed over her briefly. His psionics did not make themselves strangers to her own and she lowered her mental fortitude enough for him to perceive that she was being open and honest.

As open and honest as an assassin could get.

Her forthcoming approach seemed to have been the correct choice to make and she exhaled imperceptibly once his psionics withdrew from the surface of her mind. Jax-Mon burrowed the spittle of her anger that she'd dare degrade herself enough to cater to his whims by being such an open book, but her sights were set firmly on the future – and the throne she will inhabit once her plan comes into fruition.

Priests, the holy servants of the Elders, the diamonds among pearls of Their creation, flocked within the chamber to either fawn over her elder or herself. She recognized the interlinked signature of the so called 'Twins' in Gabriel and Uriel that took either side of the Warlock. A curious case, the pair made, but she was hardly going to question his decisions regarding them when he accepted her as revered guest within the chapel.

Jax-Mon lapsed into an intense silence as Dhag-Il studied her from atop his high podium, slowly pleased, yet wary at how easily she took to her place. It was enough that he snarkily mentioned; hand cast in grandiose gesture. " – Where is your mighty resolve now, sister? Were you not the one who stood possessed, censuring the one whom has only had your best interests in mind? Dutifully guiding you, as an elder brother should?"

"All the time our master spent, forsaking his crusade to teach our Chosen Assassin," the older of the Priests mentioned as an aside and Jax-Mon _very_ quickly understood, in half a heart beat, why Hecate detested them to the point of sacrilegious hatred. Gabriel drummed her gloved fingertips on an armoured knee. " – Putting her first and foremost before his own duty when she needed to be consoled in her time of need.."

"No gratitude," Uriel chimed in, hand cast to her lips, as if scandalized, though if anything it merely hid a coquettish grin. They took a perverse delight in laying down the charges against her, words that should have felt like venom leaving their throat was instead spoken honeyed. "No _respect_. Not even apologetic towards the undue stress she has caused to our loving master."

"It appears you've displeased the Elders' most favoured servants. What say you in atonement, sister?" As much as the Warlock would love to allow his subordinates to continue railing into her with every little spiteful, petty jab they could concoct, he did have to appear somewhat in control.

Given the privilege to speak, Jax-Mon raised her head to meet her brother's gaze coolly, a shadow of the emptiness she used to feel once she was first born. She may not ever return back to that nirvana, but with growth came control. She would carefully manage this game of words, delaying only a moment to wet her lips.

"I understand how vindicated you must feel that I come before you humbled, seeking your aid." Her tone was neutral; voice softer than it'd ever been, like parting silk. It certainly was not what Dhag-Il expected and his suspicion fostered. "I do not excuse my behaviour, but I offer reason as to why I struck out against you, elder. I was.. still coping, with my newfound fullness. I acted like a child throwing a tantrum."

She forced a gentle smile to her face. The sentiment never reached her eyes, but the illusion was enough to quell the dissenting Priests into quiet. " – I offer my sincerest apology. I will not beg for your forgiveness, but I shall earn it through my actions, as I always have. If there is any sin I feel as if I harbour, it is that I dearly miss our psionic lessons."

Gabriel and Uriel exchanged looks that bordered on frightened. This was not the Assassin they knew, consumed by anger spurned by her brothers. A silent psionic communication took place, one that cowed into nothingness once Dhag-Il sliced them with a cutting look. The Warlock shifted from his revered kneel, sitting not unlike their sibling, hand resting over his knee still gesturing; eyes narrowed as he gazed down upon her.

"And you believe this plan of yours that you wish to include me in – one that you require _**my**_ _aid_ with, no less – is how you will garner redemption?" It was unorthodox, he'll give her that, but not much else. His tone took on a mocking lilt, grin unfeelingly sardonic. "A plan so asinine that even _Dhag-Mai_ has taken more than a passing interest in; but actually **assisting** with?"

"You have not yet heard of what I ask of you." Jax-Mon mildly points out, irritatingly patient.

"I need not, given the facts!" he scoffs, but nevertheless, he dismissively waves to her. "But I'll give you the courtesy of my time, something that you hardly deserve. Speak, sister. Let us judge what my role is in this grand plan you have plotted."

Drawing in a controlling breath, Jax-Mon raises one of her hands, open palmed to the ceiling. Psionic energy collects in the heart of it, before a shimmering, purplish display of the blueprints she deliberated over with their sibling and Fiducia formed in the after-images. Dhag-Il squinted, leaning forward to get a better look at the projection, lips pursed in a thin line.

"I plan to assault the Avenger." she tells simply. "Our dear brother is working on the artillery that will be capable of grounding a ship of that size and altitude without killing the passengers inside. That is his task, but there leaves an issue of power. He has wisely decided that external elerium batteries powered by psionic energy is the only way to safely power a cannon of this size."

She adds, even though he likely understood why she went to him once she mentioned that; " – There are only two creatures on this Earth with enough psionic energy to charge these batteries. Our masters, the Elders, which I dare not ask of them – and _**you**_ , my elder."

As she fell to silence, Dhag-Il contemplated his role, leaning back, brows slightly raised. He could feel the psionic chatter of his twin Priests either side of him mutter to each other, scrutinizing every detail. Regardless of what they said, their disapproval remained strongly. He, on the other hand, latched onto the unspoken stroke of ego her plan provided.

" – This plan will not succeed without my assistance." he mused. "It hinges on either or not I deign to help you."

Jax-Mon nods, though her body tenses under the tangible pressure. It was a gambit to put the power in his hands, power that he could simply lord over her rather than what she sought. It was a risk to think that it would even work to begin with, but she knew there was no other way than to cater to his whims and hubris.

Naturally, the question she expected came. "Why _**should**_ I help you, after you had denounced me?"

_A strange time to pick the moral high ground when you schemed_ _fratricide, brother_. She thinks scathingly, but makes no comment of the past. Her gaze drifts to Gabriel and Uriel – Good, they did not pick up on her passing, spiteful thought. Always a picture of beauty and grace, Jax-Mon delicately dipped her head, subdued.

"Think not of it as helping me, but our masters." She saw the fire that flashed in his eyes that she'd dare compare her actions as part of the Elders' will and Jax-Mon vivaciously met that dare, not giving him an inch to interrupt. " – What does it matter of the competition, when they seek the Commander? We should have set aside our differences the moment they had tasked us of this."

"Naivety does not become you, Jax-Mon." Tempered, but still hotly, he contested. "Do you truly think that all three of us will be spared if we follow a single plan? The Elders have no need for failures at their sides, hanging off the success of others. They made it _expressly clear_ what will happen."

"If that is so, then why would Dhag-Mai agree -"

" – So willingly, I imagine?" Jax-Mon bristled at his pitying tone. "Oh, dear, sweet sister. He is simply waiting for the opportunity to stab you in the back and you provided him with an entire plan, cutting most of the effort on his part in half."

The Assassin considered that a possibility. No, she _planned_ for the moment that it would happen. For the most part, he would not sabotage the cannon, or make her plan a failure, but he'll wait until the right moment to strike. She will ensure he never found that opportunity, perhaps even before they stepped foot on the field. Still, she was playing a part, forcing herself to look as if this revelation came to a disgusting, frustrating shock to her.

Dhag-Il studied her trying so desperately to hold back her emotions in his presence, a rumble of a callous chuckle bubbling in the pit of his throat. As he expected. Still weak, still insignificant.. and less of a problem than Dhag-Mai lead him to believe. He glanced aside, allowing his Priests to offer their input.

_Master's brother has fallen out of favour, wouldn't you think so?_ The older of the two tittered in their joint, psionic link, soft lips morphing into a knowing smile. _His plan to eliminate our Chosen Assassin from the competition has fallen short._

_He took too long. We're not impatient, Heaven's no,_ Uriel agreed. _But our Chosen Hunter has presented more problems than solutions in the long run._ _He told us she was strong. She's a mere chit of a girl._ _Can you imagine the look on his face once you beat him at his own game, Master?_

_A change of loyalty, then._

Rising from his kneel, the Warlock dismissed his holy servants with a silent command. They obeyed, bowing to him before withdrawing away from the podium and out of the meditation chamber. His steps were slow and deliberate, descending to meet his sister on the lower dais, the tip of his clawed gauntlets touching just under her chin, prompting her to rise and meet him face to face.

"Perhaps there is something to be admired in your persistence in believing in our brother, Jax." he spoke, voice quiet this time – almost gentle. The same dulcet tones reserved for shepherding the Priests within his flock. She resented being treated as lesser, but, she committed, managing to scrounge up a convincing, mingling look of anger and betrayal. It was easier than she'd like to admit.

" – Something that even I do not have." She supposed that was his way of complimenting her; that of course had to reference himself. "It would not do for an elder brother to act pettily and watch my two youngers rip and tear each other apart. The Gods weep at such a feud in the first place."

"Then…?" she urged.

"I will assist you." he confirms, hand settling on her pauldron. Jax-Mon exhaled a held breath, nodding once to herself before repeating the motion in gratitude. " – and I will keep an eye on Dhag-Mai."

The Assassin briefly rested her own hand over his, a rare moment of exchanged sentiment that went unheard of between the siblings; lips pulled into a tight smile that showed a shred of false warmth, her pink-purple eyes meeting his. It lasted a few beats, before it dropped, as did his own hand.

"Thank you."

* * *

As a dead night fell for the crew of the Avenger; the senior officers and soldiers retired, leaving only a skeleton crew operating. Bradford left his post an hour ago, resigning to seek some amount of sleep and leaving the ship in the piloting care of his yeoman. The night shift techies stood on standby, ready to rally the troops at any sign of an emergency.

Deep within the bowels of the ship, Richard Tygan and Lily Shen worked tirelessly on the current iteration of the Shadow Chamber. The physical component of what they were after had been built leaving only really the software and technology for them to develop. As it stood, the Chief Engineer resigned the efforts of improving the secondary functions of the Chamber to instead focus on it's primary purpose.

They hadn't really made any headway into decoding the encryption surrounding the Codex's cortex, or discovering what was within the Vial. Then again, Lily couldn't really make heads or tails of the jumbled up mash of inoperable data that the Chamber or the Skulljack – or even the ship's own computer spat at them. Interfacing with the ADVENT Network was far harder than it was to simply hack it, but for the information they require.. they needed an access level that went beyond the surface.

Lily had the inorganic brain opened up, exposing the motherboard and central processing units to her as Tygan worked a terminal beside a glass containment unit – something that was Tygan's idea. He seemed certain that they were going to have to house the Codex in the ship, physically. Or at least as close to _physically_ as the quantum nightmares were.

"Okay," the engineer sighed exasperated, for what seemed like the fifth time that night. She gave herself a moment to rub at her tired and bloodshot eyes; strained from focusing her gaze through a magnifying glass for half a night. Speaking of, her gaze returned, eyeing the neural pathways of wires and miniscule tubing. If it wasn't such a cause of her frustration, it might have been a marvel to her. " – Try running it through Five-Five-Eight-One."

There was a brief pause, accompanied by the clicks of mechanical keys, until his voice reverberated through the facility; "Negative."

Lily hunched over her datapad, crossing off another one of her decryption keys. It was a bit counterproductive to try and do it manually as they were – but all she needed to establish was a base to make the rest of the data more legible to them; and translating that machine language back into something they _could_ understand.

"Six-Six-Three-Seven."

A moment. "Negative. And now we've lost the fourth sector."

She groaned, forehead thumping on the workbench. Her colleague mutually related to her frustration, peeling away from the terminal to step towards her, patting her back reassuringly.

"Perhaps it is time we retire for the night. I am sure we are on the cusp of the answer and it will seem obvious in the morning." Tygan offered. Lily lifted her head up, bobbing it nonchalantly in neither assent or dissent. She still held her reservations about working with anyone linked to ADVENT, even formally, but she couldn't scoff at his brilliant mind. It was enlightening to partner up with him on such a project.

"Look, maybe we're just hitting a few dead-ends with the Codex. What about the contents of the Blacksite vial? We know it's not harmful, at least, but we need – "

"Doctor Shen," There was an edge of warning to it and her hands raise defensively. Then, softer, he added; " – The Shadow Chamber is still currently cataloguing the contents of the vial. Whatever it has found, it seems to be running it's own diagnostic with the ship's internal database, and it will be ready when it is _ready_."

"Alright. _**Alright**_." she stressed, smoothing a hand through frazzled locks. "I'll just run a couple more keys – I promise, just a few – and I'll head to bed. Rendezvous back in the Chamber after breakfast, if we're not called for a priority mission?"

"That is acceptable. Goodnight, Doctor." he said, to which she reciprocated. Giving her a regard of respect, Tygan left the Shadow Chamber, leaving the Chief Engineer alone with her thoughts and the alien tech before her.

Stretching in her seat and stifling the Lord-knows-how-many yawn, she glared down at the brain before her.

"Inspiration, when you want to strike," she muttered to herself, increasing the magnification of her goggles to deeply study even the most innocuous of engravings that littered the chipboard. " – Give me something to work with here. Throw a bone."

Her overworked and overtired brain spat out some vague answer as she evaluated the facts and evidence before her. Tygan mentioned the Chamber working closely with the ship's computer – a _relatively_ benign alien system that Lily hadn't touched too much in fear of bringing the entire craft down, but it provided a lead. She leaned away from the cortex, summoning ROV-R to her position with the press of her left palm where she'd microchipped such basic commands.

It wasn't long before the GREMLIN swooped into the facility, spotting his creator waiting patiently for him. Lily couldn't help but giggle as he bumped into her repeatedly, beeping several happy soundbytes, demanding affection which she happily gave, stroking the top of the unit and tugging at the plates playfully.

"Hey, ROV-R." she greeted. She didn't care if she was personifying the GREMLIN, or attributing human-like qualities on the low-level AI, it was built to be a companion as much as a useful tool for all purposes. If the specialist (or engineer) got attached.. then she patted herself on the back for good design. The unit settled down nicely on the bench, eyeing the brain next to it with a questioning chirp.

"Remnant of the Codex," Lily informed, precisely placing the covering plate back on and screwing it tightly shut. She patted the GREMLIN, pushing aside the datapad and all other works to focus on him. " – Think you'll be able to talk to the ship nicely and help the Shadow Chamber without making Bradford look like a good pilot?"

ROV-R's brows, which were nothing more than two optical-protection plates, rose up and he beeped at her.

"Yeah, I know he hasn't crashed us _**yet**_ , but I'm still counting the near hit with the mountains." Another beep. " – Don't you take that tone with me, young man."

Grinning at the silliness of such a statement, Lily was swift to grow serious, issuing the command properly through the GREMLIN's touch screen, ordering him to begin communicating with the ship. The moveable plates on the robot stalled to a complete stop, before he 'blinked' several times, floating up from the bench. She was just about to write it off as a success when his interface panel popped out to let her communicate with the computer when an electrical surge sparked from the ends.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in alarm, stepping back as ROV-R almost dropped completely from his hover. She tried to step close enough to disconnect him from the computer when another discharge of energy made her think twice about it. He made a beeline towards one of the terminals, the panel on his back offering Lily nothing but visual static and nothingness – until a flash of something accessing him streaked across it. A million things ran through her mind; all of them negative as she stepped towards her companion.

"ROV-R –" was all she managed to say when the GREMLIN began to project the images flashing across his interface to the terminal. Her mouth slackened in awe, unaware of the lights within the Chamber seemingly flickering, with other systems struggling to cope with the sudden surge of interference. Her eyes widened as she stared.

Facilities. XCOM-logo – the original one, not the current emblem – blueprints and designs of the ship they stood upon, all wreathed in red outlines and dark clarity. Was this all stored on the ship's computer? Just how much of the original archive had survived..? She was sure that ADVENT got a hold of it and encrypted it to hell and back, yet –

" _Shen, we're getting some interference up here_." Bradford's decidedly tired voice nagged in her earpiece, breaking her concentration and conclusion jumping. " _– Seems to be hitting us across the board. I know we're not flying over any ADVENT towers_."

Lily shook her head, as if that would dismiss him, before voicing; "Working on it."

Gently, her hands grappled with the sides of ROV-R once she believed he had stopped emitting his combat protocol, squinting at the optical sensors. " – I don't buy for a second the ship has advanced enough AI to trigger your remote uplink.. but _**something**_ did. That.. can't be possible. Nobody knows these systems."

As she was about to turn the GREMLIN over and investigate further, she caught the malfunctioning lights from the corner of her eye. Bradford confirmed her thoughts when his voice rang through again; " _– Shen! We just got a massive power spike, what the hell is.._ "

The room was swiftly bathed in darkness as most systems shut down due to the surge of power – a failsafe to ensure that it didn't overload. The only operable terminal seemed to be the one still showcasing data that ROV-R uploaded, illuminating Lily's face with the black-and-red images. She groped a little blindly in the darkness, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden change and gripping the edges of the computer.

Something seemed to be loading. Anticipation gripped her – and a shaky breath exhaled in disbelief once the transmission was complete.

".. _**Dad**_?"


	36. Derelict

Jane Kelly didn't like rude awakenings much.

Shortly after a supposed power surge – she was fast asleep in the living quarters at the time, as with her fellow soldiers – the emergency alarm screamed into life throughout the Avenger, one that dictated life or death situations. Being ripped awake in cold sweat as all soldiers were drilled to simply _**act**_ when they heard that sound, the troops geared up and stormed out in record time.

She wasn't sure what to expect, really. The Avenger grounded, being assaulted by a legion of Mutons and Sectoids in a shadow of how the original XCOM initiative fell? The taunting psionic voices of the Chosen filtering through their mind as XCOM's Commander was dragged back into the clutches of ADVENT? A bird getting stuck in the exhaust pipe and causing a meltdown?

The soldiers stood expectantly in the barracks, although no order came – no panicked shouting, no alien chatter.. Kelly supposed, being the highest decorated soldier amongst them, she should assume leadership. She cocked her shotgun ready, stepping forward and turning to her squad. They straightened in an instant.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on," she nicely started with; " – But we've got dead silence with up top, backup-generators running on low power and I can only assume the worst. Doc, you're the tech geek, can you get some sort of diagnostic? Webnar and I will begin scouting – keep to the local radio channel. I know it's shit quality, but it's better than nothing."

As Dawn began to nod and direct her GREMLIN to open it's panel at the back for her to access, a voice sounded from the level above; the sound of human footfalls accompanying it.

" – Belay that, Sergeant."

Jane instinctively rose her gun – as did half the squad – to the stairway, though let the muzzle point to the floor when Bradford emerged, dressed rather haphazard. Bags lined under his bloodshot eyes and in the lowlight of the barracks, he seemed a decade older. She gave a respectful nod, hands full to salute properly.

Bradford gestured vaguely to get all of them to fall at ease, with the Ranger stepping back to join her squad, handing the reigns of leadership over to him.

"At around _oh-four-hundred-hours_ , Chief Engineer Shen connected ROV-R with the ship's computer to begin assisting the Shadow Chamber in it's current project." he explained to shed some light on the situation, arms folding in front of his chest as he began to pace. " – It is around this time that someone outside of the ship accessed ROV-R's remote uplink. Something that she reports should not have been possible.. unless it is someone who knew the system as well as her family did."

He stopped his pacing for a moment to pause, gathering his tired wits, glancing to the soldier he'd stopped at. Jowah looked.. spooked, most likely having been quite shaken by the recent mission he was on involving the haven and the first time he'd heard the Avenger's emergency broadcast warning.

"Currently, Shen is working to fix the power surge that has effected all systems. We are a sitting duck until she does." Jowah blanches at that and Bradford can't help but share a sympathetic grimace. Thankfully, the blanket of darkness and the general lower activity during night from ADVENT would be in their favour. But the thought of a potential attack, imminent or otherwise.. hung over their heads.

Jane opened her mouth to comment on something, when Bradford beat her to the punch. She closed it, jaw clenching as the man continued.

" – I was going to wait until the morning to announce this, but since I have your attention.." he grumbled. If he looked a decade older before, he seemed to age a millenia there, arms unfolding just so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly screwed shut. A brief moment, then his professionalism returned.

"Those most observant would have noticed the Commander's lacking presence." He began, swallowing thickly. He hated this, he wanted to stall officiating it in any way shape or form. But his mouth moved autonomously, voice matching the forced drollness. " – And shit, perhaps some of you might have had concerns about her, be it her health or her leadership skills as of late, given recent events."

The squad remained silent, but that seemed more telling than anything. Some, like Jane, were indeed thinking it. She and Bradford undertook the suicide mission of the century and their reward was, quite frankly, an underwhelming Commander that seemed no different to the dithering, old curmudgeon Captains that prided themselves on old stratagems, high connections and not much else.

Sure, she may have peeked at Kingsley's impressive former record, but her past achievements hardly mattered when under the scope of guerrilla warfare with Aliens. Jane wanted to believe she was the _fabled messiah_ of Commanders that Bradford preached on and on about. But, as the campaign forged on, it was becoming more apparent of the man's hero worship – and her addled judgement.

As if Bradford could read her mind, he adds, a little more softer but still edged with his firmness. "I still stand by her calls of judgement and I trust that each and everyone of you will follow and fight until our job is done and Earth is free. The last thing that XCOM needs is infighting, doubts and strife."

Once more, he was met with no dissent, aside from the odd clearing of throat or the shuffling of weight. He paced to the centre, slackened hands moving to parade rest behind his back.

" – Commander Kingsley, however, has decided to elect me as Commander pro tem whilst she is recovering and handling confidential matters. That being said, I prefer if you would all keep to calling me ' _Central_ ' over Commander. Any questions?"

Jane almost spitefully threw in a ' _yeah, what's different?_ ', but she held her tongue. No questions were raised among the gathered soldiers – and the silence left in the wake of Bradford's speech was broken by the main generator booting back online, bathing the barracks in bright light. He relaxed a little there, one hand tapping to the communication headset seemingly permanently embedded into his ear.

"Shen?" he asked for clarification.

It wasn't long before her voice came over the intercoms, stable. "I've reset the systems, we're green across the board, Central. The Avenger simply went into an emergency state when it detected an incoming, dangerous surge of power – which likely saved it from short-circuiting the entire lot. I also managed.. well.."

She trailed off. Even disembodied, Bradford could pick up the hesitance that laced into her concerned, stressed tone. " – It's something I need to discuss with you privately, if you don't mind coming to the Shadow Chamber."

"I'll be with you in a moment." he affirmed, before turning to the assembled squad, eyes lingering on Jane. They shared a silent exchange of words; his firm and hers defiant, speaking only when she perked a questioning brow. " – Alright, people, back off to bed with you. Good job on the quick rally on all available soldiers, Sergeant. Think of today as like a drill for when the real emergency hits."

Jane gave a non-committal grunt, but appreciated the praise for what it was worth, nonetheless.

He dismissed them, but they only began to disperse once Bradford's echoing ascending steps petered out into nothingness. Jane, on the other hand, had other plans, snatching Klaus' forearm before he could shamble off back to bed. He stumbled a little at her sudden grip, shooting her a tired, inquisitive glance.

"Confidential matters?" Jane echoed, perked brows knitting together. Her Ranger-in-arms shrugged, stifling a yawn. The last thing he really wanted to do was discuss Kingsley's decision and current course of action when there was still a couple hours of sleep to catch. He vocalized as such with a grumbling;

" – Let it rest, sweetheart." He could easily substitute ' _it_ ' for ' _me_.'

"Come on. Aren't you the least bit curious? Hands off the position of Commander just like that? Doing Lord knows what?" she pressed, but he wasn't biting.

" _Let it rest_." Klaus emphasized once again, tugging his arm out of her grip. "Secrets rarely stay as such on this ship, so just wait until the morning at least. For all we know, it's probably just smoothing over the temporary transfer with the faction leaders. We're not privy to that shit."

Jane was suspicious, but conceded shortly to his point. Whatever Kingsley was up to, if it concerned the well-being of XCOM.. they'd know about it sooner or later. She'd like to prevent anything bad happening to the cause she willingly risked her life for day in and day out, but.. she presently needed rest, too. A real emergency could pop up at any moment.

* * *

When Bradford strolled into the Shadow Chamber, he was met with the frantic sight of a pacing Lily, terminals displaying information that it really should not have been – and a smoking, sad looking ROV-R beeping docile on the workbench beside an inorganic brain. His professionalism shed a little under his concern, stepping forward and gently touching the engineer's forearm. " – Shen?"

Lily jumped, hands curling into fists naturally; gaze searching his face before recognition settled. "Bradford," she greeted in turn, tugging herself out from his weak grip and already getting down to business, regardless if the XO's questions were more in lieu with herself than her discovery.

"I managed to isolate whatever was activating ROV-R's uplink remotely. It's.. an unknown transmission." She marched towards a specific terminal in the chamber, dismissing the graphical view of statistics and data, transitioning it to a visualization of a facility. She taps the screen pointedly. " – From here. A couple of defunct ADVENT factory towers. I've got a couple of archival photographs of the place, but, nothing live."

As she brought up the photographs – a few aged ones where they were freshly erected, to ones as recent as last month pulled from the still working CCTV cameras showing it encroached with ivy and ruinous. Bradford moved to her side, hands planted on the edges of the terminal to get a better look.

"These towers seem like they've been rotting away for years." He glances at the peeling paint and the exposed infrastructure jutting out hazardously. He amends that statement; "Hell, maybe even decades."

"Right?" Lily agrees. "Yet, the security cameras still work. Power readings – not even just from backup systems – are being picked up and that transmission was sent in the first place. I've ran several scans with no luck, but.. **something** must be living there. Something must be keeping it powered."

" – And something got a hold of contacting us in only a way you or the late Shen could've." Bradford concluded. He noted the way Lily's face hardened at the mention of her father, her own stoicism barricading walls around the grief she never got a moment to fully experience. He hesitated, almost wanting to comfort her. To tell her it was alright to air it out, no matter how much time had passed.

But their duty was never ending.

"Alright. I'll make this investigation a top priority once the morning light hits and we're ready to send off a squad." Bradford told, pushing away from the terminal. He intended that to be final, as Lily mentioned nothing more about her discoveries, when she piped up, voice quiet at first, but tone strong.

"If it's.. possible, Central – I'd like to attend the mission as well."

"Out of the question." The words left his mouth before he even truly processed them. He backed it up with hard fact. " – If we lose you, Lily, XCOM's as good as finished. There's no engineer that can do what you can. Even if you get injured, we're dead in the water for however long it takes for you to recover."

A frown graced her face, stepping closer to him, brown eyes meeting his own in fierce determination. "John, I am the only one on this ship that knows what to look for if we go raiding that place and I won't be able to see accurately unless I am there in person. You know our live-feeds aren't good enough – and susceptible to interference."

"And I think I deserve to find out who has the gall to use my father's work, now of all times." she continues a little more quietly, even if she knew that her point wouldn't fly for John, she felt strongly about it enough to mention it. " – Besides, I'm no safer here on this ship than I am out on the field. Any number of maintenance repairs could backfire and injure me and it's not like I'm investigating the towers alone, am I?"

"You don't have to do this, Lily." Bradford began, hating that she knew exactly how to wear down his patience enough that he was seriously considering sanctioning her to go. "I know it's personal for you, but – "

"I _appreciate_ that you're probably just looking out for me, John, but I can handle myself." Her chin juts out a little, not giving him an inch to deny her this. " – The things I do.. engineering, anyone can learn that. I'm not saying I'm expendable before you jump in with that argument, but compared to the suicide mission you undertook, that really **_WOULD'VE_** finished XCOM? You can't talk."

Bradford shot her a warning glare, noting the dip of bitterness that peppered her words. "I don't appreciate the tone you're taking with me right now, Shen. The mission we took to rescue the Commander was a necessity and a completely different context to this. It's not even _comparable_."

"Yeah and where is she now, _**Commander**_?" she hotly retorted; volume raised. She had been privy to the temporary transfer and seemed to share some of the grievances that a select few soldiers did. Lily seemed to realize what she had said, though, blinking a few times and shirking back as a dark storm brewed in the reflection of Bradford's eyes.

But, subverting her expectations, he did not shout her down, or order her subordination, letting her speak. She continued uncertainly.

"This.. isn't the time for me to be bringing it up now." Lily sighed quietly under her breath, meeting his gaze with her own, flinty one. " – But I am just as much a senior officer of XCOM as you are and frankly, you don't respect me as much as you did of my father to see that. Maybe you still see me as a _little kid._ "

"Lily – !"

She held up a hand. "If you want my professional advice, sending our squad on a wild goose chase without someone who knows ADVENT and our own systems as well as they do is, to put it diplomatically, _unwise_."

Heavy silence filled the Shadow Chamber, with only the saddened beeping of ROV-R and the soft fans of the terminals serving as ambient noise. Lily stood her ground, arms folded; posture defensive and mind unable to be swayed. Bradford backed away from her, exhaling a deep sigh that belayed the tangible stress that seemed to rest so weightily on his shoulders.

"We are returning to this conversation at a later date, Lily." he promises. It wouldn't do good to have senior officers harbor doubt about Kingsley any more than it was for the soldiers. " – But I'll allow it. You can attend this mission on the ground."

Lily's own resolve shattered, hand pressed to her face as she slowly nodded. That was a battle she didn't want to have, but shaking herself out of it, she focused on the present.

"Thank you, Central."

* * *

Once morning hit and breakfast was finished up, the soldiers found themselves once again standing in line at the barracks before a pacing Bradford as he debriefed them on the mission they would be undertaking. A squad had not been picked out yet and Lily mentioned something about a 'surprise' before she would join them.

" – And to finish this debriefing off, Chief Engineer Lily Shen will be accompanying the mission." Bradford concluded to the assembled team, stopping in the center. He took this time to mention, knowing he wouldn't get the chance when she was there; "Although she will be taking point, I want everyone to treat her as a VIP escort. You will guard and protect her at all costs. The mission is secondary compared to her safety."

Jane cleared her throat. Once Bradford looked to her, she spoke; " – Question. Where is Doctor Shen?"

"Right here."

Lily definitely looked different as she descended the steps to join the team. Her engineering slacks had been exchanged for kevlar armour, suffused with metal wiring that seemed to be more like a frame than anything finished. Her rifle shared a similar aesthetic, with the standard assault rifle heavily modified with gilded metal and a magazine clip that defied conventional. ROV-R, hovered behind her, beeping a chiptune of an old battle rally.

She seemed to be carrying a crate in her free hand, with a couple of the techies from the Bridge roped into assisting with the rest of the crates. She directed them to place it at the workbench table within the barracks, popping them open and letting the soldiers feast their eyes on the new equipment.

"These are the magnetic prototypes. The rifles and shotguns all pass the diagnostic tests, they just need some field results. What better test than a mission?" She shot an apologetic look towards Jowah. " – Sorry, no gauss rifle yet. Still working out the bugs in that one."

The sharpshooter hardly complained, sharing his comrade's awe as they soaked in the sight of the new toys to play with. Whatever dissent that Jane had regarding Lily attending the mission that she was about to bring up was squashed instantly. She hungrily eyed the twin swords glowing with magnetic energy.

"Are you sure about deploying them for the field, Lily..?" Bradford questioned.

"Absolutely." She adamantly stated, gesturing to the armour she wore. "This armour that I'm working on – nicknamed the 'Predator', is a work in progress, so it's not ready for squad deployment. But I figured you might have appreciated me taking some extra protection."

Bradford moved to comment, but found himself touched that even despite the argument that they had and her feeling like he didn't respect her – she still took his concerns into consideration. Squaring his shoulders, he gestured to the team.

"Kelly, I want you squad leading." That was all she needed to dive towards the opened crates, greedily picking out her arc blade and shard gun, smoothing her hand across the surface of the magnetic shotgun happily. She couldn't _wait_ to tear ADVENT apart with it. A rematch against the Assassin with her new sword..

"Is there anyone specific you want on the mission, Doctor Shen?"

"Doctor Lovett." Having an additional specialist and a second opinion would help against whatever unknown they were dealing with.

Dawn nodded lightly. There were few injured and those that were could be handled by Tygan. Her own GREMLIN, CAD-C, chirped when they were picked, moving to interact with ROV-R, bumping into it's fellow drone. The doctor shook her head lightly at the robot's antics, moving to collect her gear and magnetic rifle and head towards deployment.

"Pick your squad, Sergeant."

"Dragunova, Mox." Easy calls, though Jane couldn't help but slip in a teasing jab. " – Not gonna break down and be totally useless this mission? You're representing factions here. Didn't know they sent greenhorns."

Elena stepped up, jabbing Jane in the chest as she passed, growling. "You tread on thin ice, Sergeant. You were too busy sniveling and wetting your bed to even attend that defense in the first place. Don't start."

Even Mox rumbled in agreement, checking his grapple and ripjack, adding; " – I will be doing everything it takes to prove myself. I will not allow myself to be susceptible to psionic attacks again."

Jane grinned, nodding to them as they headed towards Firebrand, gaze settling on Klaus. She was going to pick him, but – he looked like utter shit. Deployed every mission, injured most of the time.. it didn't take a doctor to see the strain that was needling him, evident in his tense posture and bloodshot eyes. _You can sit this one, buddy._ She thinks. _Get some damn sleep._

"Clacher. No shiny new toy for you. Still think you can perform?"

"They'll be dead before you even get a chance to test 'em out." he shrugged, confident, matching her grin.

She clapped him on the shoulder, sending him on his way. Lily followed shortly after, with Jane at her heels and Bradford drawing a breath.

"Good luck, Menace."

* * *

The Network alerted Fiducia that another crate of materials and supplies had arrived at the Stronghold. With a passing mental command, he directed the MECs assigned under his command to collect the shipment and deliver them into the main workspace. As progress on the heavy artillery continued, much of the workshop's room was steadily being taken over by sleek, black metal.

Industrial noise made up most of the din, with a quiet hum of – if he had to guess, music – streaming out from some personal device of the Hunter's making. The Chosen in question was hoisted up, working on the structure of the cannon, setting up scaffolding and directing crewmen with but a thought as Fiducia managed below.

He checked the datapad tucked in the crook of the arm, studying the data being projected there. If they kept at the pace they were going, it was likely the cannon could be completed in half of the estimated project time, not including any of it spent testing it's functions. Or the question of power..

Fiducia trusted his Chosen – the Assassin, not the Hunter – to make good on her word. If she said she would be able to convince the Warlock, he had no reason to doubt her. A small smile touched his lips as he thought on that. On the project as a whole. It was just a shame he couldn't share this moment with his bondmate..

An indiscernible feeling in his chest tightened again. Why did he always feel that whenever his mind inevitably wandered to his love? He didn't even know what it was, other than an intense, internal pain. He knew the Network wanted to make him think her traitorous and to forget her. But he couldn't. He _wouldn't_.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Dhag-Mai jumped from the scaffolding, landing as silent and poised as his sister beside him. Fiducia did not need to be told what he required, reaching towards the bench to hand him a recently cleaned towel.

He lifted the welding mask, tossing it indiscriminately to the side as he patted down the sweat off from his slicked face. Working with power tools, even with a Chosen's physiology, were still taxing conditions.

" – Don'tcha just love that sound, Captain?" the Hunter mused, rubbing the back of his neck with the towel; grin wide and bearing all sharpened teeth. His free arm naturally came to rest over Fiducia's shoulders and he knew better than to pull away. Dhag-Mai gestured at the half-finished cannon with the cloth. "The sound of progress? Music to my ears. Look at how _beautiful_ she's becoming. Just a few more touches here and there.. then we can start working on her barrel in the next room."

"Truly a marvel of your capabilities, my Chosen." Fiducia intoned.

The defense captain deflated in relaxation the moment Dhag-Mai chose to pull away from him, patting his hand affectionately on the cannon's base. The Hunter's admiration for his own handiwork didn't last long when a silent vibration buzzed against his pocket. He fished for the device, tugging it out and squinting at it.

He made a pleased noise in the pit of his throat and within moments, his steward padded in, arms full with his armour.

Fiducia frowned, hidden with disappointment as the sole Priest he'd seen within the Stronghold was treated with the same respect given to a coat hanger. He supposed he shouldn't have expected more from the Hunter, but evidently things had not chanced since his time within the base.

The Priest in question assisted in his dressing once the major pieces were plucked out from her arms. She snapped the utility belt into place and presented his pistol ceremoniously. The Darklance, the Hunter's pride and joy, was a _little_ bit on the heavy side for her to carry, but it was never too far from the Chosen whom wielded it. He accepted his revolver, twirling it once before slamming it into it's holster.

Now dressed, Dhag-Mai shoved her out of the way – Fiducia's programmed instinct to protect any Priest unit kicking in and forcing him to steady the poor girl before she fell over – and trotted over to grab the Darklance from it's perch and sling it over his shoulder.

"I'm heading out. I expect another five percent progress at a minimum when I return." he cheerily stated, offering the pair a mocking wave, not stopping to even face them. " – Try not to do anything stupid whilst I'm gone."

Before the Captain could even question Dhag-Mai, he'd already left.


	37. Reminder

The worst part about entrusting her project into the hands of her brothers was the simple fact that it left Jax-Mon with little to oversee.

Crowding Dhag-Mai's workspace was simply _out of the question_. He was tolerant **now** , but the last thing she needed was to pull the trigger on his inevitable backstabbing earlier than intended. She might as well be back to the drawing board or entrust the project into ADVENT's own engineers – though competent, they could never match the pace that the Hunter set in strides – if she was going to spring that trap.

No, handling the Hunter was something that required more finesse than even the most daring of assassination attempts. A dance of subterfuge, a game of deceit.. of all which became very easy to lose the rules to and left one reeling and awestruck. She had little choice but to be ahead of that game, lest he catch on and take advantage of the situation, as the Hunter was want to do.

As she had just returned from Dhag-Il's stronghold, the Assassin had little to no desire of returning back to be scolded by his self-righteous nature or by his simpering, insidious imps he was masquerading as Priests. Had the Elders not ingrained into all of them – Chosen included – of the Priests' ecclesiastical role, she might've silenced them where they stood before her elder could even react.

Her own base was.. eerily silent, much like her. Whereas before she would have basked in the shroud of silence that blanketed the blessed halls of the stronghold, now – it drew a sense of uneasy quiet from the Assassin.

Had she truly grown used to Fiducia's psionic signature subconsciously managing Network directives that it's absence struck her? Even before, her mind was far too occupied with the current events for Hecate's apparent defection effect her. Yet now left alone, she found herself.. remiss. Internally she chastised, the inner voice taking much the same lilting, melodic tone of her Mother as she did.

' _You are a blade of Their will, and yet you long for what? Company? You needn't any_ _but the shroud on your back,_ _your siblings by your side_ _and the void before you_ _._ '

Darkness and shadows were two that have been her oldest friends for as long as she remembered. In their embrace, they offered her comfort and security, like the infinite stretch of void, nestled within the Elders' bosom. However restlessness set when it wrapped around her, discomfort rose. Was this not the state of empty apathy that she had longed for; reflected in the quiet of her stronghold?

Jax-Mon sighed under her breath, letting her hands drop limp to her knees, meditation halted. It was better that she simply came to terms with the fact that she did, indeed, _miss_ Hecate and Fiducia. Growing attached like she had.. no, it was not merely like a child with her toys. She.. respected them.

At the very least, she knew that Fiducia's absence would be rectified once the Hunter had completed the heavy artillery. That was simply a matter of time and her sibling was not the only one with God-given patience. Hecate, on the other hand…

She stands by the thought that there may have been an error within the Network – Codices be damned. Jax-Mon would not put it past her brothers to have been so petty as to tamper with something like that to ensure the few 'nice things' that she had, or held dear to her, were ripped away. But, as it stands, she had no proof of accusation and something of that magnitude would.. draw unnecessary attention from Ishmael and his ilk.

Elders rarely meddled with the matters of their children – why would they, the Godly beings that they were? Such would be considered divine intervention. But the Network they constructed was their pride and joy, once holding their esteemed Commander that they were so taken with. It may have been a shadow of what it once was without her subconscious presence driving the tactical archives; but they were sensitive about their favoured creations.

Claiming that her brothers directly used their precious Network to tamper with her own affairs so pettily would not go down well. Jax-Mon contested, regardless, that she was not a child that cried for her Mother anytime her siblings did anything to upset her. She was perfection personified - their own faults, misgiving and shades of _**humanity**_ will slide off her.

A tranquil focus set as she contemplates her options, slipping into the sea of directives that dart subconsciously by from the aforementioned Network. Hecate was in her brother's possession last she had been tracked. The New Mexican facility, to be exact. Information extracted from logs buried under thousands of data presented itself in her mind's eye. There was an incident involving one of the prisoners once housed there. A Templar.

Jax-Mon searched further. _Give me the archival footage of this prisoner's time here._

A frown marred her face when she was hit by the stark ' _ **ACCESS DENIED**_.' It seared into her mind like the lick of fire, not quite unlike psionic backlash. It made her own concentration shirk, hissing back, before slowly relaxing into a quiet calm once again. Typical, that Dhag-Il would keep whatever happened within his territory firmly under lock and key.

Nevertheless, she addressed the facts that she knew. That facility was the last known location. It would be the perfect place to begin her search. As for concerns of territorial disputes.. she firmly believed that including her elder into this project of hers was the correct decision, despite Dhag-Mai's apprehension. It should not draw his anger if she were to move through his land, now.

Assuming he would even notice she was there. Her psionics brimmed to the surface; palpable, like she could touch the energy that burned in her soul. It pooled into the palms of her hand and she cast it out like a net around her, cloaking her in a shroud, stealing herself from sight. Bathed in the energies, she utilized it to teleport out of her empty stronghold, into the live, vivacious world.

* * *

Unlike her posturing elder that would appear in a bolt of heavenly light, basking in their masters' divine power, she arrived at the prison facility in a hushed whisper of the wind. The foliage rustled at her entrance, the chattering leaves spoke of her presence before silencing when she gathered the psi-energy in the air to empower her shroud. It fluttered, like a true, tangible blanket, before settling heavy on her arms, soft as silk.

Jax-Mon exhaled softly – silent. Her eyes closed slowly and she trusted her senses to give herself a clearer picture of her surroundings than merely vision. She heard the beat of a passing pigeon's wings overhead, the swish of each blade of grass framing the edges of her boots. Distantly, faintly, she swore she could hear the muted chatter of grouped humans deep underground. She strained – but the sound was difficult to pinpoint, especially when her ears honed to the hum of the looming facility near to her.

She disregarded the sound, for now. It was too far, too distant. If anything, it most likely belonged to a confident haven. Why her brother had yet to wipe it out, she did not know. _Bad publicity_ , she thinks bemusedly, when recalling her chastising dealt by the Speaker.

Casting her gaze towards the facility, a brief sweep with her psionics informed her that the building was staffed with a skeleton crew of a security detail and a single Priest caretaker. The bright light that indicated a human was not present, so it would appear that Dhag-Il hadn't taken any prisoners as of late. She did, interestingly, catch flashes of dull, flickering lights – spilt, dried blood, if she had to guess.

Well, she needn't have to _guess_ , as she slipped inside to inspect the building.

It was.. sterile, like a gene clinic. Pristine floors, blinding, all too bright light fixtures on the walls and ceilings. Had she not grown so adept at her psionic shroud, she may have caused a shimmer of reflected light with every movement. Jax-Mon was assured of her abilities. Her pride, not unlike her brethren's hubris, was built into her. She passed the silent guards posted at the corners, easily avoiding detection of the Priest to find that source of psionic refuse.

It was within one of the containment cells. Unoccupied now, but she had little doubt that it once housed someone that managed to draw her brother's ire, such as the Templar paladin. Jax-Mon entered – and halted, eyes falling to the chains cluttering the ground, clamps wrenched free. Hm, perhaps she may have overestimated her sibling's housekeeping if the cell had been left used.

She knelt by the chains, hand ghosting over the surface; feeling the static that once clung to them. They weren't merely cast-iron shackles. They were cruel implements of the Hunter, made to restrain even the most hardy of psionic creatures. Inert now, the once-prisoner's blood still coated the clamps where it had been on their wrists. Dhag-Mai wasn't generally in the mood for sharing his equipment. It made the Assassin question _why_. How long ago was this? Before Hecate had become lost to her, certainly.

Jax-Mon tried not to ponder on it too long, but her mind traitorously wandered. There was only one reason she could believe, one that she determined for herself before she sent Hecate on her pilgrimage. Had her brothers been against her – since she took her first step? Had she made a mistake, believing that she could use them as they use her – and they were working together to spite her once again?

She kneaded her temple, teeth peeking through the slight snarl that curled her lip. It was a complex spiral that boggled the mind trying to keep tabs on their fickle loyalties and their plots. She knew this. She had thought this once before. Yet once again, she found something tightening her chest and closing her throat. A shadow of hurt biting through the apathy that had set.

' _There's a part of you that wants to be a family._ '

_Truly_? She spits scathing back to the voice in her head. The two siblings that she had promised she would end if they did so much as get in the way of her righteous, cleansing path. The brothers she accepted time and time again that would betray and seek to kill her. The vision of the family was **Father's** ideal.

A pause in stark realization. Then, a quiet, timid thought: _Father?_

Silence met her thoughts and for the first time in existence, Jax-Mon felt a stab of cold fear caress through her muscles, locking her into place. It was as if something seized her mind before slipping away, just as quiet. She questioned the void again, fervently, desperately, but nothing was returned except her objective: _Hecate._

_Perhaps I should.. focus on my purpose here._ The.. shackles. Right, she was examining the shackles. At the very least, she filed the associated information regarding her siblings away, focusing on the fact that, very faintly and only thanks to her God-given senses, could she even detect the presence of the wayward Priest that lingered in the room. Ever so faint, now. If she came any later; it very well could have faded.

She traced the faint presence, out of the cell, feet carrying her as she trusted herself implicitly, taking the most likely route that Hecate once had. The Templar's presence split from the pathway, seemingly exiting through the window which, upon closer inspection, held faint traces of that dried blood. She ignored that, instead continuing to follow the other fading signature to the back entrance of the facility, to one lead into the deep woods of the New Mexican wilderness.

Jax-Mon silently paged the Network as she traversed, bringing up any relevant information. The most striking, that gave her pause, was a known Skirmisher band operating somewhere within the woods. Her lips pursed into a thin line. She did not know that Skirmishers had spread so far as to encroach in the Western USA. And thanks to the territories.. she hadn't been made aware of it.

_Then again_ , she reasoned – it had been a while since she had enacted her original purpose once the Commander had been stolen under their noses. Her recapture superseded all doctrines. Perhaps it was far past due that she cull the weeds of dissidents. Left to linger, they become nigh impossible to uproot.

* * *

The Assassin found herself statuesque, overlooking the encampment from her spot on the hill. The Network's report gave her a sense of the scope; which was to say that being so far from the main outposts, it clearly was meant to be used as a stop, or even simply a sanctuary to tend the wounded. It was far too small to function as any sort of valuable base.

She did not feel annoyance that her talents would be wasted on such a minor skirmish. Remiss that her skills yet to be matched evenly, true – but where the Elders' will was concerned, Jax-Mon considered no task too small. Butchering this camp would be no different than severing a finger from the faction as a whole. The Skirmishers would continue to thrive, but not without losses. Not without _pain_.

She darted forward, leaping off from the hill in a flourish of acrobatic feat, landing soundlessly upon the aluminum rooftop of a shack. Stepping to the edge, her gaze patronizingly swept the floor, noting the two medics – one human – talking among themselves whilst a sleeping Skirmisher rested unawares in the medical cot. She had been correct to assume it was a stop for the wounded.

Jax-Mon slid from the roof, driving the pommel of her katana into the forehead of the human medic, sending him reeling to the floor in a startled daze – vision blurred. Momentary surprise lapsed over the hybrid doctor's face before her instincts snapped her to attention rushing to reach for her weapon. But, alas, it was too late. Shock stitched onto her face like a death mask as the Assassin's blade pierced through her throat.

Kicking the body off and letting it thump to the floor at the foot of the cot, she meticulously took the time to approach the laboured Skirmisher and to end the misery he was no doubt suffering. The injury didn't look salvageable. A mercy, for his life to be stolen away by her the swiftness of her true-cutting blade.

How selfless she could be. As much as these degenerates deserve to suffer for they forsake the Elders', she was not as cruel as humanity. By her hand, she would speed them to a gentle death. These were the repetitive thoughts that sung through her mind like a Vedic hymn, branded into every thought. She liked to imagine it was their masters that crooned such praise.

Not a single twist was made of her sword. Not a single taunt. Clean incision and removal, wiping the flat clean across the faded grey of the blankets.

A groan jolted her out of her thoughts as the medic began to regain his senses, hands cradling his head and nursing the injured temple. Jax-Mon strode over towards him, lifting him up by the throat in a crushing grip. He gave out a weak, gargled cry, fear pooling black eyes as they settled on her. The shroud had dropped at some point during the attack – the skirmish too weak to serenade her into a state of battle-focus where she could maintain such a thing and strike still.

"Where is the leader of this hovel?" she asks, succinct. She had no tolerance for spinning long, grand tales, nor letting her words dig and cut when her katana was the only blade she needed. Her psionics as well, rose threateningly; manipulating the supple mind, casting shadows of fear across it. The medic whimpered, eyes tightly screwing shut and weakly wrestled with her wrist.

"Y-You're c-choking ..." he bumbled out. A much needed gasp of air was taken once Jax-Mon lessened the pressure on his windpipe. His eyes flared open, wildly looking to her with a look cross between a begging plea and fearful imploring.

"T-This is just a – camp to treat the – the wounded, please, I – I don't want to die – " He broke out into a heaving sob shortly afterwards.

Perhaps she _might've_ overdone it with her psionics. _Getting sloppy?_ She humbled herself. Jax-Mon forced herself to withdraw the overbearing energy back inwards and slowly settle the man back onto his feet, though she smacked the flat of her blade to his side purposefully, indicating that he shouldn't get the wise idea to run. Another pitiful sob trembled from his chest.

"I will ask you one more time and you will give me the answer I seek. I do not suffer fools gladly, so do not make me repeat myself a third time." the Assassin warned. "Where is the leader?"

"S-She is – in the surgeon's tent." he blurts out. Realizing the fate he'd sealed to his colleague, he collapsed to his knees, clutching at her boots, spluttering out his words in rapid succession. " – Please, we have no affiliation to this, w-we just want to do – "

Jax-Mon had enough of the man's whimpering and gave him the reward of his co-operation by stabbing her katana through the back of his head, stepping aside. Sadly, not fast enough – her lips twisted into a petty frown as blood splattered the deep maroon of her armour. She supposed the crimson of the human suited better than the meld-infused altered orange of her kin's lifeblood.

Casting her gaze outward, the mentioned tent wasn't difficult to pick out among the rabble of broken down shacks and makeshift infirmaries. The occupants of which sported a range of trauma, though all seemed to lack lucidity of their surroundings, making it easy for Jax-Mon to march towards the tent without so much as an alarm raised. She would be back to bring her mercy, like a true Saint. But for now..

The flutter of the tent flaps alerted the head surgeon – the so called 'leader' of the battlefield hospital. She was a Skirmisher, with distinct Sectoid genetics turning the usual yellow, enlarged iris and pupils into a deep, bug-like black, speckled with faint purple. Despite the unusual combination of genetics not seen outside of the Priest's template, the surgeon lacked any sort of affinity for the Gift. Her energy, her signature was nothing but a muted candle, indicative of a living soul, but not of a psionic user.

A tense second. Begrudging choice flashed across the surgeon's face, before her shout rang loud; " – Protect the wounded!"

None of the surrounding doctors or scarce guards wanted to open fire on the intruder with the wounded present in the tent. Jax-Mon took advantage of their split-second hesitation, clarifying their deaths with a single mortal strike from the slice of her blade. The guard decapitated, the attending nurse's throat slit. She carried the momentum forward to the surgeon –

The ripjack snagged her katana before it could come close to pinning the doctor's coat to the table of medical implements behind her, wrestling the fine, honed edge away from her – sweat breaking across her brow. Jax-Mon sneered, displaying two rows of sharp teeth as her free hand curled into a fist and surged on. The soldier coded into every hybrid forced her to rely on instinct alone; her hand shooting up to catch the Assassin's wrist. A brief struggle of strength ensued, with the surgeon sorely at a disadvantage.

" – What do you want from us!" she cried, a tremor crawling through her arm as the stress of keeping her blade at bay took it's toll on her. The Assassin knew that to overpower her, it would be as simple as weakening her strength and then riposting on the surgeon's imbalance. But she capitalized on the steady hum of nervousness that no doubt gnawed the pit of her stomach, sneer curving into a wicked smile.

"An asset of mine found herself lost and into the clutches of your sacrilegious tribe of hybrids." Jax-mon hissed, leaning her face closer, making sure the surgeon couldn't look anywhere but at the Assassin and her deathly intent. " – Her last known location was within this hovel you are passing off as a sanctuary. Where is the Priest?"

" _ **Priest**_?" Then, it dawned on the surgeon. That flicker of recognition was all Jax-Mon needed to pool her strength into knocking the ripjack clean out of the way, eliciting a gasping yell from her. She attempt to dive to the side, but a straggled scream erupted once the katana pierced through her shoulder and pinned her to the metal table behind. Blood stained the mostly immaculate lab coat orange when it seeped through the fabric.

The Assassin let go of her wrist, no longer needing to keep her restrained with her blade doing it for her. She pressed her palm into the pommel, steadily increasing pressure – and increasing the volume of pain baying out of the surgeon.

"Where is the Priest?" Jax-Mon demanded again.

"C-Certainly in a better place than from whence she came!" She spat daringly throughout her heaving breaths. Always a doctor at heart, she judged the Assassin's intent as malicious and would do anything to prevent harm falling onto anyone, if she could help it. But her strong will crumpled under the agonizing torture of the Assassin slowly twisting her katana to draw fresh blood.

"Spare me your misguided kindness to one who thinks you worth less than the ground she walks on. She is no more your 'battle sister' as I am, why needlessly suffer?" coaxed the Chosen, but her tone curdled and her psionics impatiently probed forth, picking at the edges of the surgeon's mind. Tears leaked from the wounded doctor's eyes, splattering on her ruined coat.

Desperately, she tried to keep out Jax-Mon's mental attempts, but under such duress, she was susceptible to her psionic probing. The memories of Hecate flooded to the forefront of her mind, allowing the Assassin to purview them and garner the intelligence she needed.

The Priest, dazed like a lost lamb, stumbled upon the encampment, it seemed. The head surgeon.. allowed her to remain, as a healer, once she showed her worth. Jax-Mon dismissed the thoughts with a mental wavering, forcing her to think more presently. The Skirmisher whimpered, canting her head away, but it made no difference to the power of her psionics.

Betos had arrived via one of their reclaimed Skyrangers – to offload supplies, crates marked with the grinning skull of Reapers' deathly visage. Speech was.. incomprehensible, but Jax-Mon focused on the Battlelord taking a keen interest in Hecate. They seemed to converse lightly. She looked to the very edges of the memory, as best she could, seeking any more contextual clues. There! A peak of XCOM's symbol emblazoned onto the jacket of a human assisting in carrying the crates..

Jax-Mon's consciousness slipped away from the surgeon and with not a single word more, ended her life with the sweep of her katana. She let the body crumple to the floor, uncaring, mind focused on a singular thought:

_Had Hecate been taken in by XCOM?_

The Assassin shook her head slowly, but pondered this for a moment longer. Perhaps allowing Hecate to unwittingly gather intel from the inside on the troublesome organization may provide a boon yet. All she had to devise was a way of contacting her without alerting XCOM's suspicions. Alas, that would be for the new day.

For today, the battlefield hospital will be razed and the Skirmishers will be reminded that she would never stop hunting them. Her blade hungers for justice.


	38. Hunt

It was nice for the pilot of XCOM's Skyranger to be able to fly as close to the access point as possible – essentially the front door. No turrets mounted to the roofs in bastion, no heavy artillery keying in their position, or the threatening flash of ADVENT's cease and desist overtaking the cockpit view. By all accounts, it was smooth sailing.

Firebrand felt the unease drift from the squad sitting pretty in the Skyranger's holding, however. Noticeable, even to her, whose focus was dedicated on ensuring they didn't attract any attention from the interceptors that no doubt lurked. Central wasn't one to exaggerate, but they were aware that ADVENT never truly left any facility alone. Especially one of such marvelous scope as the abandoned Towers.

The sheer scale of which seemed to engulf the sky in a berth of twisted, derelict metal and reclaiming overgrowth spidering out of the mould-covered windows. Grime and dirt prevented any natural light from filtering in, creating a putrefying atmosphere within the facility itself. Firebrand, at first, wasn't even sure if it was safe to land the weight of the Skyranger on the helipad, judging from the cracks in the once-white, now yellowish and beige foundation.

_**Helipad**_.. how long ago was the facility even used..?

Nevertheless, they touched down safely, making the imposing height of the Tower ahead even more stifling. Firebrand flipped on the intercom as a way of providing an all clear to begin disembarking, gruffly quipping; " _– Hope none of you have a fear of heights._ "

She smiled behind the flight helmet when she heard a distinct grumble of someone – Dragunova, if she had to guess – curse her under her breath. The lack of ADVENT's presence set her teeth on edge. She'd never been able to land the Skyranger, not unless it was to base. The apprehension hung in the air as pervasive as the daunting task at hand.

Lily Shen took point once the harness of the Skyranger lifted up. Her hands moved autonomously in a routine check of her magnetic rifle, ROV-R springing to life from the upper storage loft of the transport ship. His awakening prompted Dawn's GREMLIN, CAD-C, to 'yawn', with each of the panels twitching and fidgeting live. They joined their respective Specialists as they left, with the Chief Engineer exhaling in stark awe as she took in the Towers.

"This.." It certainly matched the maps that ROV-R funneled through on his uplink. She recognized the structure, but the live or archival footage could never hold a candle to standing before it. " – It's not like ADVENT to just up and abandon a facility this large."

"Do you expect hostilities?" rang Jane Kelly as she came up beside Lily, hauling her shard gun like nothing, letting the weight of it rest against her shoulder. The engineer's eyes shifted to shoot her a side-long look, subconsciously envious as she was constantly reminded the drag on her muscles her own rifle was giving her. Lugging sheets of metal around for production was something else entirely to being in full combat gear – weapons included.

" – _We're not picking up any_ _vital_ _signals in the surrounding area, or much of_ **anything** _. You're going to have to make your way to the top of the tower to access the data being broadcast. Be cautious, Menace._ " Bradford sounded in each of their earpieces. " _I don't like you going in blind_."

"That is what you have me for. I will be your eyes. They are far more reliable than your computer scanners anyway." Elena may have been a crack shot, but her natural talents lied in tracking and scouting. She strode forward; black trench coat billowing behind her as she settled her mask into place. She blended well in the dark shadows cast deeper into the facility, where all light seemed to be swallowed up by the disuse and neglect of the building.

" – Tread carefully, Dragunova." An unknown smile befell Elena's lips, head turning to briefly regard Mox.

"Is that worry or concern I hear, Mox?"

He grunted in response, though did not deign to answer her, busying himself with checking his bullpup as the squad awaited Elena to track forward and give the all clear. The Reaper yearling couldn't help a quiet snicker. _Typical Skirmisher. Never picking a battle they can't win._

She advanced slowly, though, taking in contextual clues to the facilities origin. The scratched, peeling paint, the ruined scaffolding and the ivy of vengeful nature spilling out from the damp, inhospitable conditions – if she had to guess, the Towers may very well be twenty years old. As for the purpose? Generally, one of this size gave her only one answer: production. Of what.. she did not know.

Elena pushed herself up to the side of a set of stacked, forgotten crates once her keen eyes caught sight of two, black figures looming at the entry point. Upon closer inspection, she realized it wasn't black at all, but rather heavy, rusted iron and half-faded symbols. Rent metal hung off the frame in a twisted mess of exoskeleton and plating. The robots – MECs, perhaps? – seemed deactivated for now, but she reckoned if there was enough power in the Towers to send out a broadcast strong enough by the Avenger, then there must be enough juice to power the bots.

She pressed her communications device pinned to her lapel, whispering in a hushed tone. " – All clear up until the entry. There appears to be two ADVENT-style MECs inert by the doorway. Sergeant?"

" _Hold position. We're advancing_." came Kelly's order.

Once the squad approached her position and taking the cover that Kelly directed them to, Lily's brows furrowed as she eyed the MECs, a frown touching her lips.

"You're right in that they look like ADVENT's current MECs, but they're practically ancient by their technology's standard." she murmured, keeping her voice low. " – We should be able to shred right through their armour. Don't get cocky, though, those guns still look functioning.. _**and**_ dangerous."

With silent direction from Kelly, Mox and Clacher lined up their respective weapons – though the latter kept his sniper rifle on his back, trading it for the more conservative pistol – to the two MECs. Upon the Sergeant's signal, they open fired; slaughtering the peace with the angry crack of gunfire and screeching metal.

Mox's bullpup made short work of his target, the kicks of three bullets piercing through the frame and, as Lily predicted, shredding the internal circuitry with ease. The exposed plating hissed in a fizzle of broken electricity and live wires, but was ultimately felled. It's companion groaned, stiff metallic joints creaking as they fought against the rust – robotic movements hauling the unconventional rifle to the group, only to get a second pistol shot between the eyes, taking the head clean off.

Lily stepped towards the destroyed MECs, lowering to a kneel and gesturing ROV-R over with the cybernetic chip in her hand. She got him to run a basic diagnostics on the materials as she manually sifted, gaze searching the corpse of metal, interest naturally gravitating to the weapon.

" – This rifle isn't like the ADVENT's standard magnetic ones. I don't even think it's gene-locked." She didn't touch it, just in case the stickers or paint had since peeled off. She nudged the heavy, unwieldy thing with her own mag rifle, tugging it from the MECs' grip. "I.. don't think it's an _ADVENT rifle_ at all. Maybe a prototype, before they shipped the standard weaponry we see today."

"I don't want to give them an opportunity to find out how deadly they still are." Kelly muttered, to which the Chief Engineer bobbed her head in agreement. " – Dragunova?"

Elena silently moved on, past the fallen MECs, towards the entry. She noted the all too large factory-like doors, that were peeled back and no doubt making the entire facility draughty and bitingly cold. She was intimately familiar with winter and donned thick armour and a thicker coat, making her largely unaffected. She didn't like the wide open area, though. Too many nooks and crannies. Her gaze cast upwards. Too many catwalks and scaffolding.

The factory floor looked no better than the archaic MECs stationed outside. Large, dilapidated mechanical claws segmented the area, with the same make and model robots hoisted onto the production cranes like meat on a hook. Scrap metal and part refuse lined the room messily and in dire need of some housekeeping.

A glance to the side confirmed that large crates stacked upon each other lay unmarked at the walls in hazardous heights. One of the crates that had toppled open spilled out it's guts, confirming them to be spare materials – in that crate's case, coils, springs and copper tubing. Copper.. another obsolete metal claimed by entropy.

She struggled to find any way to ascend. The stairway leading to the next floor up seemed to be blocked by debris of the wall collapsing in on the stairwell, and the shattered look of the stairs themselves didn't lend for much reliability. Squinting, she strained to see on the far end of the facility some sort of elevator shaft. It didn't look like it was for humans, given the same crane-like harness given to the MECs, but it meant their mission was not dead on arrival.

"It's some kind of.." the good Doctor's voice sounded behind her, the soft hum of her GREMLIN not far behind. "Robotics development facility… ?"

"Pretty advanced stuff." Lily intoned flatly, rising in a sarcastic lilt as she added; " – For about. Twenty years ago."

The moment Lily made her presence known; the entire building groaned with an electronic whine of machines shaking off their rust and getting to work. The dark lowlight of the factory floor was brightly illuminated as each of the lights snapped on. The squad raised their weapons in alert, though Lily was the only one to keep hers lowered once the intercoms embedded into the corners of the room crackled into life.

" _And so prodigal child finally returns_."

Confusion worked the muscles of Lily's face – apprehension set as the voice sounded from all around them. _Not human_ , she thinks, glancing to ROV-R in some sort of confirmation. He was having no luck, with any sort of diagnostics coming up inconclusive at best – or just downright negative and blank otherwise. _Prodigal child..?_

" _I see Father's pride in your abilities was not entirely unfounded. I am so glad you could join me_."

" – How do you know my father?" she blurted out immediately, eyes widening, only to sharpen into a glare as it bounced from intercom to intercom. _Why are you calling him 'Father', anyway?_ Was the unspoken question. Either way, the voice only provided a low, thrumming, electronic byte of laughter as it's answer.

It became clear, as the area was bathed in better light, that a company of armed, active MECs awaited them on the factory below, having escaped Dragunova's sight by hiding inert within the aisles. Lily sucked in a breath, readying her magnetic rifle as Kelly gave the command to assault.

"Central, what the hell was –!"

" _Working on it_ ," he gruffly responds over the communications as the firefight broke out.

Although sluggish, the MECs were still aided by computer assistance, making their aim just as pinpoint as a fully functioning robot. They lifted their rifles in unison, letting a barrage of conventional bullets lose from the prototype guns. They shelled into the disheveled cover and Kelly reckoned that the support barriers wouldn't hold out long against concentrated or sustained fire.

Vaulting over the half-cover, she sprinted under the fire to slide towards one of the cranes, finding the larger base adequate protection. She waited until she heard a dip into the gunfire's synchronized hailing to peek out of cover and nail the full spit of her shotgun into the chest of an approaching, slow-moving MEC.

The kickback was.. new to experience, and she let out a low whistle as the barrel smoked with magnetic fire, having felt the stock plough into her shoulder. That was quite some firepower she was going to have to get used to and one she was happily looking forward to doing as such. Pumping it, she peeked out of cover again only for the MEC she aimed at to get a bullet straight through it's central core, courtesy of Clacher.

" _My apologies,_ " the voice from the intercom rumbled again. " _– We don't get much in the way of maintenance out here. Still! I believe they are more than adequate for the task at hand._ "

"What task would that be – grinding us into paste?" Lily spits in retort, readjusting her grip on her rifle to level with one of the approaching MECs. She was glad she never skipped out on any live-fire training and she really only had Central to thank for his diligence in keeping her fit and capable of protecting herself. She squeezed the trigger, the rifle feeling strange and alien in her arms. But, at least her aim wasn't terrible, and she'd shot the side of the MEC clean off.

It vainly attempted to lift up it's single arm to point haphazardly with it's own weapon, but that too was cut off as it got too close to Jane's sword. With a second swipe, she ensured it was dead.

" _Still unable to get an exact fix on his location. It's like he's bouncing across the entire facility._ " Central informed. He knew if Lily was up here, tracing the signal instead she'd have details and then some. She heard his mumbled cursing, her chest twinging sympathetically.

Mox shot forth his grapnel, the twin serrated blades piercing through the metal chassis. As much as it would be a test of strength to try and pull the robot towards him, he more wisely chose to let himself be roped forward, capitalizing on the machine's momentary disorientation as it attempted to compute the next optimal move to slash his ripjack upwards – and through the neuroptics. Planting his boot on the frame, he tugged his ripjack out.

A shadow cast over him as the last remaining MEC attempted to gut him with the end of the rifle, though was quickly felled by the three kicks of his bullpup and a surgical shot from Dragunova's weapon. He threw a glance over to the shadowed Reaper – nodding lightly in appreciation and respect. With her mask, it was impossible to determine her thoughts, but she returned the gesture imperceptibly.

" _Ahah_!" Central cheered in eureka, his efforts finally paying off for something. He cleared his throat, returning to stoic professionalism as he explained; " _– Getting some unusual readings from the levels above you. I'm betting that's where we'll find whoever is manning the intercom._ "

"Got it. But.." Lily frowned, taking in the sight of the factory floor. " – There doesn't seem to be any way to ascend to the upper levels. Maybe if we haul the debris blocking the stairs..?"

"Chief," Dragunova called, grabbing her attention. She directed her to the elevator shaft she'd spied earlier on the far end of the area.

"Good eye, Elena. If I hack that elevator control console, I'm sure I can restore power and get us access. ROV-R?"

The GREMLIN beeped happily, plates shifting as a tune of duty beeped out, fluttering over towards the control panel. Lily smiled gently at his antics, descending from the upper platform to make her way across the factory floor with the squad to the elevator. ROV-R's controls popped up in a faint hologram by her chipped hand, to which she began to remotely hack the console as they moved.

" _You should be proud,_ _**Lily**_." That damn voice spoke again. The Chief Engineer tried not to let him mess up her concentration, though something uneasy tugged in her gut when he mentioned her by name.

" _– There are so few alive today that could ever uncover my signal. By my estimations, you only had a thirteen percent chance in probability of locating this facility in the first year of broadcast._ "

"Maybe I can hack the intercom to make him shut up." she mutters. Whomever was out there, listening, he seemed to huff and take a personal offense to her flippancy; the electronic, inhuman voice somehow conveying a real sort of emotion when he spoke.

" _You were but a child when I was torn away! I could never understand the pain Father must have felt at my loss, but still. We shall complete his legacy.. together_."

Talk about a way of making her blood run cold. She almost messes up her line of code before she corrects it swiftly. Of all the missions she had to personally attend, why did she get stuck with some creep?

"I'm pretty sure I would've remembered **dad** mentioning about a psychotic _brother_ , whoever you are. Just drop the act, it's starting to get creepy."

" – _Don't let him get into your head, Lily_." Central pipes up, having carefully monitored the conversation and not at all liking what he was hearing. " _I knew your father for years and I can vouch that he never mentioned anyone like this. Don't rise to his bait and focus on the task at hand._ "

"Right." That statement irked her somewhat, though she knew it shouldn't. Her father saw Central as a good man – good enough that Shen senior might have relied on him to take care of his daughter. _But what if there were things you_ **didn't** _know, Bradford? What if this – this guy did know my father..? You didn't know him all his life.._ _I.. I can't help but feel like the name's on the tip of my tongue.._

Lily shook her head to clear her thoughts, finalizing the hack and calling down the elevator.. or more accurately, the one-MEC forklift. She smoothed her hand through her hair; clearing her throat. " – Lift's back online, but this was designed to move MECs, not people. If we want to get to the upper levels, it's going to be one at a time."

As Kelly signaled for Dragunova to take the lift up first, the intercom spurted into life once more – and the whole facility groaned. The unstable ground felt as if it'd collapse in on itself and create a sinkhole, causing Lily to splay her hands to steady herself and grip to the safety railings. Several more derelict MECs were uplifted to the factory floor from whatever storage unit that must have been a sublevel, and the voice's incessant ranting continued.

" _You were the flawed child, not me! I was the ideal. Undiluted. The best of Father's work_." Recognition flashed across Lily's eyes, her mouth falling agape. " _– I am Raymond Shen's true legacy!_ "

"I _remember_ you.." she breathed, her arms on autopilot as they raised the rifle in preparation to defend herself against the approaching MECs. "Dad was.. trying to upgrade the base's AI. To be something.. more like us. But.. but you weren't like this back then. You were simple."

Then, quietly, she adds;

"Father called you.. _**Julian**_."

* * *

As much as the Hunter was lacking in psionic proficiency, when compared to his older brother – there was something cathartic to take from the 'flexing' of it, akin to stretching one's legs once he teleported at the foot of the abandoned facility. He was quick to pull that power back to him and like his sister's cloak, he enshrouded himself in untraceable shadow.

Rising from his crouch, Dhag-Mai stuffed the alien device back into his pocket, gaze appraising the towering building with little more than mild, yet rising, interests. He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth; tutting to himself. " – Getting in the habit of chasing ghosts now, XCOM? Can't say I'm surprised. Your band of misfits and fossils are _full_ of them."

Oh, that was quite a stinger. He should use that one on Kingsley, once she wasn't enfeebled. Trust his brute of a brother and their fickle Father to go over the top.

"If they're not careful, they might just drive you straight into the grave." A smirk graces his lips at that. Chatting to himself was a habit he wasn't fond of kicking any time soon. There really were so few who could hold his attention long enough for him to care. " – That'd be so _easy_ for you, wouldn't it, Kingsley? No, you're a **spiteful** thing, just like Them. You'll live."

He strolled, casually. As if this little side job was nothing more than a leisurely walk through the park to be taken at his own pace. And, truly, the ball was in his court on this one. He had first strike advantage – and he wasn't one to prematurely pull the trigger when _so much more_ _**fun**_ could be had.

Alas, before he could lose himself to the thrill of the hunt, he supposed he should clear off the basics, first. Who was he dealing with? Ishmael's ex, for starters. If it wasn't for Dawn landing in their clutches just long enough for him to spare a passing glance, he wouldn't be here. "Personal thanks are in order, of course. The look on their faces! I'd almost say it's worth it for that alone."

The answer to his question, at least partly, was in the form of the two destroyed MECs scattered like rubbish at the entrance to the facility. Dhag-Mai lowered himself, pushing the felled robot to it's back and inspecting the damage. The bullet wounds were consistent with bullpups. _Mox_. He sneered at the thought of the Skirmisher and even more so at his sister's incompetence to do her _namesake_.

The second robotic corpse perked his brow, however. "Pistol shots.." he mused a loud, rooting out a nine millimetre calibre bullet from one of the holes – then chuckled lowly. "Got yourself a _sharpshooter_? That's **cute**."

He discarded the spent shell, investigating further into the facility. The pungent, acrid scent of magnetic fire hit his nose; to which wrinkled. So, they were packing some half-decent firepower. What else? He scanned the factory floor turned battleground for any more corpses to analyse. One of them sported what appeared to be deep cuts. Too thin to be the twin serration of a ripjack, so either Ranger were present on the squad.

Given the Phantom's presence on the last mission – and the no doubt blow to his mental health suffered at the hands of the Hunter's Father – Dhag-Mai put his money on it being Jane Kelly.

The Hunter determined, as he finished his sweep, that the only way the squad could have advanced was to take the shaft to the upper levels. That was fine by him, he had other ways to maneuver. He exited the floor, back to the open entrance and glanced up to one of the broken windows of the second level.

Angling his grapple carefully, he shot forth the grapnel and reeled himself towards the ledge, slipping inside. The dark of the facility lent itself well to his camouflage, leaving only the soft illumination of his eyes glowing beneath his hood. His grin returned; tenfold.

The hunt was on.


	39. Epiphany

Kingsley never had dreamless sleeps. Her slumber, blanketed by fractured memories of the perceived truth – of reality, danced across the forefront of her mind in fits and starts. It clawed every inch of her, needling her body, making the faint scars left over from medical injection ports burn with a renewed fire. The hospital bed became the back of the heavy, course suit and the lights overhead were the flickering of directives she'd issued to millions of soldiers world-wide.

But awake, she remembers no such feeling until finding herself being stolen away to sleep. She was left with only the gnawing disappointment and cold regret that settled on her stomach like bedrock. Her gaze listlessly traced around the sterile infirmary. Hatred, a close cousin of self-pity, boiled soon after. She _hated_ this. She loathed her enfeebled state. Spite tarted her taste buds – is this how the Aliens will win over XCOM, with her rotting in a hospital bed for the remainder of her twilight years?

_So, you have two choices._ Her mind coolly intoned, able to separate herself from the situation and analyse it strictly as a Commander, not a person. _Let John run this campaign into the ground because you damn well know he cannot lead something like this as you weep over your misfortunes. Or, do_ **something** _about it._

Vitriol would only get her so far. Her bones protested as Kingsley forced her muscles to co-operate, leaning forward from the bed. All the aching pain begun to numb into a nothingness as she distanced herself from _herself_. Anger drained, replaced with a languid apathy that set on her face like a fresh pearl. She smoothed her hands through the silvery mass of her hair, collecting it and tightening it into a professional bun, just as her feet touched the infirmary floor.

John had always warned her of the dangers of emotionally haemorrhaging herself in such a way. ' _You won't connect with the soldiers.'_ he'd said _._ Kingsley lightly shook her head. They didn't need a **friend**. They needed a Commander and she'd done a right piss poor job of it so far. How could they expect her to lead them when she couldn't even control her own psionic powers?

' _It'll get harder to come out of that.._ box _, Dottie.'_

A little late now, twenty years after the fact. But she knew her XO only meant well. A light amidst the void, he was. One of a kind. Knew more about her than a woman would ever like to admit – and in her long, military career? Something's were better left unknown.

Padding over to one of the nearby terminals, she accessed her account and looked up where one of the specific soldiers were. Truthfully, Feng had recovered quite a while ago since the Blacksite and had taken to meditate in her room. She didn't mingle with the other soldiers, though Kingsley hardly cared for her standoffish attitude. Expected it, from a Templar regarded as a ' _renegade prophet_ ' in her own right.

In any case, she requested the Templar's presence, marking it as urgent before returning to the sanctuary of her bed. Barely a moment passes when Kingsley slips off, pacing dissatisfied. Is that the image she wants to give to her assets? A dying old hag?

She hooks her foot around the leg of the chair, scraping it noisily closer to her so she can slump into it. Her fingers twitched, and the craving for a cold glass of whiskey rose. The last thing she wanted was to attract unnecessary attention and have John breathing down her neck about her health should she ask for such a thing. So she sat, waiting, brooding. Gaze perking up when the doors slid to and revealed Luminița Feng.

"Commander." she intoned once she had entered, inclining her head towards Kingsley with an air of perpetual, mocking respect. She hadn't changed much since Kingsley last saw her – strikingly yellow armour, heavy, shackle-like gauntlets set on her wrists and pinkish-purple psionic energy creeping up her exposed biceps like a woven web.

"It appears you have decided me worthy enough to finally deign your presence with. I am honoured, truly."

"Cut the shit, Feng and take a seat." Kingsley had little patience when she heard Geist's snakeish charm, she didn't need to hear it from his protégé as well. Feng briefly splayed her hands defensively, though a smile touched at her full lips, curling on the very edge of a sneer. She commandeered the visitor's chair, dragging it to face the Commander, sitting upon it with perfect form, hands folded on her lap.

If anything, it just made Kingsley all the more conscious of her bent-forward position and she slowly pulled back until her spine hit the backrest.

"I'm not in the mood for fancy speeches or dancing around the thornbush tonight." God, what she wouldn't do for a cigarette. " – So you give it to me straight. What is the problem with my psionics? How are the Chosen able to exploit them and not say – yours?"

"Before I am able to give you the answers you seek, Commander, we must determine the origin of your psionics – "

"Is that necessary? I thought you'd gathered the moment you saw me that my psionics aren't.. _**right**_."

Feng flayed her with a look. The soft earthly brown of her natural eye colour suffused with the alien purple made for a stunning – and deadly gaze. A muscle in Kingsley's neck twitched as she understood the silent point. They'd hardly get anywhere if she was insistent on being so curt and direct. Begrudgingly, she gestured for the paladin to continue.

"Yes. It is necessary in order to ascertain whether or not your psionics are truly malignant and exploitable, or benign. I do not think your psionics _**started**_ this way. Not to mention that not all bodies are capable of sustaining the gestating Earth's Gifts, or the twisted aberrations of the false Gods." She smoothed a hand down her thigh, watching the way the latent energy of her own arcs across her gauntlets with the mere motion, low-thrumming and brimming with power begging to be tapped into.

"Whatever notions or preconceptions of psionics you may hold, I advise you to disregard to take what I say in a new light, Commander." Feng straightened, if that was possible. "You must ask yourself. Are these psionics natural – or artificial? When did your Gift first emerge? If you cannot remember, when did you feel as though these powers begun to effect you?"

Kingsley appreciated her frank tone. It felt thirty years prior, being schooled with a hundred questions by her superior. Sinking further into the chair and slipping one leg over the other, she cast her mind far back to the earliest instances of her psionic capabilities. That would be…

…It would be…

Her throat tightened. She couldn't remember.

Her elbow came to rest on the arm of the chair, lower face propped up by her palm. Struggling to remember what was fact and what was dream. She managed to reconstruct some sequence of coherent memory in the past twenty years and cleared her throat first before speaking to ensure her voice was strong and confident.

"Maybe a few days before I was nabbed officially for XCOM." she answered. "I knew there was something.. within me. Like an eel, slithering through my innards, living just beneath the surface of my skin. Not painful, not _directly_. But the sensation could get to the point of.. discomfort. Everything seemed so louder. Somedays, I didn't even need my glasses."

"You are certain?"

Kingsley tried not to let a frown raise to her face, but knew it was a valid question, nonetheless. " – Bradford can back me up. He was the first person I told about it."

"Bradford." Feng clarifies; a singular silvery brow rising. "The only one whom is capable of confirming that is the one with a history of alcohol and or substance abuse. If my sources are to be correct, that would include the time _during_ his service, too."

It took a moment longer for Kingsley to process the information that Feng had dug. Something that the two senior officers agreed had been only between them. Subconscious panic rose, mind whispering; _had she found out? You buried everything. All leads, all trails –_ until reason and logic calmly swept in to silence the storm that threatened to brew.

"Sources?" she questions, succinctly inquisitive and with a gaze that could curdle milk. The insufferable Templar only offered a hidden, non-telling smile in return. Kingsley closed her eyes briefly – funny, how all her past actions had been rattled awake to haunt her – before opening them and adding, much more quietly, though just as deathly calm.

" – He never did drugs. Not during the original campaign. I know that much." But she didn't deny the man's alcoholism. It was enough doubt to have Feng shake her head.

"Then I cannot determine if they have ever been natural or not through your recount. I have reason to believe the latter. You were.. in some stasis chamber, correct? During the twenty years."

"Yes." Kingsley tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread claw at her stomach and pool into her gut. She swallowed thickly. "I was – Tygan removed a chip, from me. He theorized that through the stasis chamber, I was hooked up to the ADVENT Network, performing.. administrative work, I suppose. Subconsciously."

Feng slowly nods. The Commander liked to think she was good at determining faces, but the woman was structured like a diamond and just as unfeelingly hard to crack. " – Perhaps these.. psionics had been surgically implanted into you. Crafted by _**Them**_. So that you may 'perform' to the best of your abilities to their horrid abomination of machine code and biology."

"Is that.. even _possible_?"

"The ADVENT Priest exists." she coolly pointed out, sneer proudly on display. "Disgusting, _vile_ nymphs that they are, wielding unnatural, artificial Gifts."

"So the origin of why they aren't _right_ has even more theories surrounding it's nebulous state. Let's – Let's get to the point, already." Kingsley reared the topic back to it's purpose; mind frantically at work as she tried not to wrestle with the reality of the power she knew was not supposed to be there. It had never been anything but uncomfortable. Ice-fire against the skin. A swimming feeling in her gut. Nothing _**natural**_.

"What can I do to stop them being exploited? What can I do to prevent them from.. growing further?"

"There is.. an experimental technique that the Holy Father is working on." Feng hesitantly began. Not only was it breaching Geist's confidentiality towards her to mention it, the fact that she was considering the tactic in the first place was.. risky, to say the least. The other alternative, that she did not want to pitch to the Commander, however, was _**nothing**_.

" – To.. lock the Gift, as it were. He only intends for it to be used for those whose bodies are too weak to handle a disproportionate amount of psionic energy they may have. To even suggest such a thing is.. sacrilegious to the Earth itself, that we may be dissatisfied with Her Gifts, but.."

Kingsley scoffed quietly under her breath. It was nice to know that Geist was a man first, beyond his visage as a supreme pontiff. She folded her arms, capitalizing on her trailing sentence. "If this is something that Geist is working on, then I think I'd want him to perform … whatever it is that needs to be done. I mean no disrespect to your abilities, of course. I just want to minimize as much risk as possible."

The Templar's apprehension vanished in a moment, replaced with a collected veil of calm that she was infuriatingly known for. " – A wise thought, Commander. Unfortunately, you would never be granted face-to-face audience, not whilst the Templars officially refuse to ally with XCOM so long as you assist or associate with Skirmishers. At least, that is the _current_ reasoning."

She blinked. Then swore under her breath. "Granted audience – Oh. Don't tell me. Are the Templars run by _**council**_?"

Kingsley was already burying her face in the palm of her hand as Feng's humourless smile reached her lips and her head dipped in a brief nod. She pinched the bridge of her nose, even as the paladin confirmed what she already had.

"Three bishops, two paladins – and Geist himself."

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me." she muttered into her palm before dragging it off from her face and pinning Feng with a flat look. At least she had the decency to look mildly ashamed on their behalf; though it was almost impossible to discern from her chiselled features. " – Alright. _Alright_ , What will this experimental technique entail?"

"I forewarn that is invasive and requires that you must be at your most vulnerable." she prefaced. " – A mind meld will take place, with more direct control on my behalf, to seal or extract the psionic energy within, depending on what is the best course of action."

" – Extract." Kingsley interrupted, tone questioning. "Where would this energy go?"

Feng's lack of an immediate answer sharpened the Commander's gaze, prompting her to call the paladin's name. She exhaled slowly, before finally answering. " – I will be attempting to absorb the energy, to add to my own. It is a safer alternative to simply letting it free without a suitable host or conduit for it to inhabit."

"So." There was an unrewarding sense of smugness that hit Kingsley, all the pieces falling into place as she recrossed one leg over the other, arm resting partly over the back of her own chair. " – You **benefit** from this, don't you? Is that why you are so forthcoming with Geist's 's _pecial technique_ '? Why you are even helping in the first place?"

"Benefit?" the paladin echoed. " – I am _sacrificing_ myself on your behalf, Commander. I take no pleasure from the power if it was spawned from those fiendish devils."

"Always a martyr, never a Saint, Feng. Heaven knows I hardly believe people act on the good of their heart any more. But I like my assets to be as forthcoming as possible with their intentions." She met Feng's gaze evenly, reflecting the clinical frigidness that seemed to freeze the atmosphere around them. "Honesty is far more valuable to me."

The paladin slowly shook her head, raising her hands to slowly work off her heavy gauntlets so that she may begin the procedure. They clattered to the floor with a resounding thud, indicating to Kingsley just how heavy they might be. She flexed her fingers, habitually massaging her wrist. The psionic power that pumped through her and ran through her biceps seemed more vibrant now; her natural eye colour lost to the otherworldly energy.

She scraped the chair closer to Kingsley, close enough that their knees almost knocked together. Her hands delicately turned upwards.

"Commander. Relax your body, your mind, and place the weight of your palm on my wrist."

Kingsley's gaze flicked to the outstretched arms in question, before reluctantly followed as instructed, gripping her forearm. Feng's fingers closed around her own once it was in place – and she tried to ignore the electrifying feel of psionic static race from the Templar's fingertips across her skin.

"Close your eyes … and follow my suggestion. Let yourself be lulled into a sense of security."

The _suggestion_ , as it turned out, was the whispering probes of psionic energy beginning to stretch outward and touch at the very surface of her mind. Kingsley gritted her teeth; jaw squaring, but forced herself to screw her eyes shut and loosen her first response of shying away from such temptation. She followed the 'sound' of it's voice. It lacked tone, charm, or anything, other than mental compelling that she should continue.

With the mind meld taken place, Feng shifted through the corrupted memories that lied on the surface of her mind. Pushing them aside – searching deeper for her soul. She followed the faint pulse of psionic energy until she could visualize it – and it was just as she expected when she first felt, standing before the Commander in her office.

The energy seared with a hostility that was unlike what their Gift should be. A brimming fire instead of a calm docility kept under control. She reached out, tentatively, introducing her own energy against the Commander's.

It was the greatest mistake she could ever make.

Images flashed across her mind's eye, rapidly, lashing her with a rejected feedback that smarted worse than a weal. Something alien – fluttered across her view. A multi-armed creature clad in silk and steel, but it was gone as fast as she saw it and in it's place a growing, overwhelming pain that _**demanded**_ her to withdraw. Feng complied as fast as she could, but her haste only stabbed the backlash of energy deeper into her core.

Kingsley exhaled a shuddering gasp once the Paladin severed the link between them, hand nursing her head and vision worsening to the point of blurriness. It passed, slowly, but surely, though the other was not fairing as well as she. Rubbing at her eyes harsh enough that they stung, she blearily glanced to her.

" – Feng? What the _fuck_ just happened?"

The woman waved her off, her own head cradled and fingertips digging into the skin, enough to leave little crescent moons from her fingernails. Her tenseness slackened, fresh, salty tears wiped away as the migraine refused to co-operate. What she had saw – what she felt now, was just a _warning_ to stay well enough alone. Feng was inclined to heed it.

"Your psionics are corrupted and volatile." she tells plainly, tone curt as pain cut away pleasantries. "Safeguarded and malformed by vicious intentions. I cannot extract them from you, nor will I be able to lock them away without any grave danger to myself in the process. Teaching you is – out of the question. But.. I believe I may have a temporary solution in mind."

Those were not the answers that Kingsley wanted to hear and her displeasure reflected as such. Nevertheless, Feng plucked her fallen gauntlets, fussing them about back over her wrists.

" – You should think about requesting your Chief Engineer to create replicas of the Templar's gauntlets. They are tools for the psionics, just as much as an amplifier is. This should stop any exploitation from happening. I can provide the blueprint."

The Commander frowned. The discovery ultimately lead to one more stress overhanging her and a dead-end. But, there was more than one way around such obstacles, even if she had to brute force one out of the situation. She spared Feng a nod, gaze drifting away, slumping in her chair once the paladin's back was turned.

"I see. Thank you, Feng. You are dismissed."

* * *

" _Power levels increasing all around you, Shen. Stay alert._ "

Julian had followed Menace as they ascended up the shaft through the singular MEC-intended lift, his voice permeating throughout the entire facility as a sarcastic lilt overtook his fanatic ramblings of earlier; " _–_ _Yes, it goes without saying that you're walking into a trap, Lily. May I advise using your compatriots as meat shields? I do still have use for_ **you** _._ "

"There are turrets stationed around the room. They bear ADVENT's sigil." Dragunova calmly clarified of what awaited them as the squad carefully advanced, with Kelly signalling the various support beams and machine structures for them to use for cover that was out of the turret's sight. An electronic sigh was heard, a long, delaying whine of sound.

" – _That would be the trap I_ _ **just**_ _mentioned. Really, do you surround yourself with them to make yourself seem smarter, Lily?"_

"I wish I did find that mute button." she mutters. As light graced the rooms, those turrets became clear, the head of it twisting in place, actively seeking targets. The barrels were coated with a thick layer of brownish rust that ate most of the black paint and decal away, but she was going to bet that much like the MECs, they were still functionally deadly.

Far enough away, Clacher safely drew out his sniper rifle from his back, steadying a good chunk of it's weight. He needn't take his time with a target that was unmovable, but he wanted to ensure he'd only need a single shot to take the left most turret down. He centered the muzzle to a vital point on it, and shot. The conventional bullet chewed through it's rusted, broken down armour easily, causing it to short out and explode in a hail of sharp, metallic chips.

As Dawn pushed up to deal with the eastern turret, Lily kept on watch for any MECs that Julian might throw on them, spotting several depots like before where they could feasible rise from. They had learned a lot since arriving there, even before accessing the data. Julian's existence – ADVENT getting their hands on him. His 'assistance' and subsequent turncoat.. It made her blood boil, but one question hung in her mind.

"You talk a lot, Julian, but you don't seem to say anything of worth." she spat, gaze lifting from the ground. " – Maybe if you just told me what you need me for, I might actually be inclined to help you."

" _Lily_.." Bradford warned, but his voice was drowned out by Julian's haughtiness.

" _Second only to my creation, Father had another breakthrough. A prototype, unlike anything the world had ever known. A body meant to be paired with an equally adept mind –_ _ **my own**_. _Yet activating the device has proven.. difficult, even for me._ "

"If Dad meant this device to be for you, don't you think it would have happened by now?" she tries for reason, but Julian continues, fervently. He manages to drop his voice softer, as if nobody in the room but they existed.

" _Of all organics, only you possess the key of unlocking the true potential of his design, Lily. You alone can activate the design.. and you alone can_ **free** _me_."

" _Why would we want to do that?_ " Bradford joked lightly, but when dead silence came from the Chief Engineer, he paused. ". _. Oh no. Don't tell me you're seriously considering this. Lily!_ "

Implanting Julian into the device was not what she was considering, no. But throughout her so called 'brother's' rambling, she was struck with an epiphany. He was an AI. Intended to improve the base's AI. Shen senior might not have intended Julian to occupy this mystery prototype, but he did intend for him to be what he was.

Lily refused to believe that her father would want her to plainly abandon the AI. He didn't simply _forget_ projects like Julian felt like he had been. Perhaps he was meant to be found just as much as the prototype itself. The gears in her mind turned rapidly. The key element she felt that was missing from the Shadow Chamber was an organic processing component. AI certainly wasn't _organic_ , but Julian could simulate the same neural networking that composed a Codex.

Theoretically.. Julian could eliminate much of the heavy lifting. A single calculation done by AI could be made in the fraction of the time it'd take her or Tygan to do it. The alien systems wouldn't reject him, unlike ROV-R, who spat back the information in ones and zeros. Julian was a quantum computer in comparison..

"Actually.." she finally spoke. "You're right, Julian. You should be free."

" _He is?_ "

" _I am? I mean,_ of course _I am. Oh, it is such a RELIEF to hear that you've come to your senses. Finally! I should have expected more, you are the daughter of Raymond Shen, after all._ " A bit of excitement bled into his tone, hardly able to contain himself. " _Please, please, ascend the stairs, ignore the turrets killing your companions._ "

Speaking of, Kelly unloaded a two shots worth of magnetic spit from her shard gun into the turret, destroying it. Her head turned and she mouthed a question. They all knew 'helping' Julian was a bad idea, but Lily merely mouthed back to ' _trust me._ '

She ascended the stairs leading up to the air tight clean room. Julian more than happily lowered one of the windows – though, only one, it seemed, as the rest were stuck – to allow her access to the prototype.

Lily stepped over the short step, squad at her heels, when her eyes landed on the prototype – and marveled.


	40. Prize

There it was. The reason behind the transmission. The prototype.

It easily stood a head or two taller than Lily – and it's ' _face_ ' reminded her of the GREMLINs she created later on. _Great minds think alike, Dad._ She thinks ruefully, gaze tracing it's frame. It's design. Unlike the facility surrounding them, or the derelict MECs they destroyed to get to this point, the prototype looked.. immaculate. A layer of dust, here or there, but devoid of any scratches. Even it's paint job seemed fresh.

The clean room itself was.. unnervingly well kept considering the state of the towers. If Lily had to guess, then it seemed Julian might have set up base here, or where his central processing unit was. The variety of monitors – working, functioning monitors with intact glass screens – littered just under the ceiling. A terminal with static to it's monitor was beside the prototype itself, with various wirings and tubes hooking into the side, linking the machine with the robot. She suspected that must be where one of the access ports were.

Most of the squad had stationed either outside it; or breached inwardly in case Shen needed assistance. Jane Kelly was one that stood inside, shotgun at the ready, warily eyeing the sleek monitors mounted on the walls. Mox and Clacher secured the perimeter, with the latter supporting his sniper rifle on the railing as a makeshift tripod.

Dragunova, on the other hand, skulked in the shadows. Her gut was screaming at her that they were not the only ones present in the room – and although she chalked it up to it simply being the reserve derelict MECs literally beneath their feet, it didn't silence her instinct. She wet her lips, scouring every dark corner, every shadowed patch. She didn't make it this far as Volk's second by thinking it was merely her paranoia getting to her. It was well-founded.

But.. she accepted that she hadn't enough cause to alert the group yet. Reapers always shot to kill – or don't shoot at all. Never a bullet wasted.

Dawn wrestled with CAD-C as she entered the clean room – the GREMLIN seemed put off with them standing so close to the electronic signature that Julian was broadcasting. Even ROV-R fluttered close above his owner's shoulder, face plates oscillating in concern.

_SPARK MK-1 w_ as emboldened in dark, impact lettering right on the front of the prototype's chassis. Lily's hand reached out, tentatively at first – everything felt as if there was nothing in the room but her and the last remnant of her father's work. Her heart twinged in remorse, eyes creasing as she fought back tears. It was easy to do so when the sombreness was swiftly cut by her so called brother.

" _You've come this far._ " He sounded far more enthused now that she appeared to be on his 'side', tone gentle, soothing, almost. The monitor flickered behind her and she retracted her hand, turning her head to catch sight of what it was. A singular image occupied the screen; red-orange line to represent the soundwave of his speech and an all foreboding eye.

_That must be Julian._

" _All you have to do is link my systems for the transfer. There is no need for.. further conflict."_ He switched monitors, then, moving to the terminal. A pop-up flashed, showing an imprint of a hand. Lily recognized that he was seeking her impression. At her continued hesitance, he spoke once more, a touch more fervent – sprinkled urging and urgency.

" _I am not ADVENT. I care not what happens to this world. This, this imprint, is all I have truly asked of you from the very start. I admit my methods might have been a little.."_ He pauses. _"…_ excessive _, but I have not known much else in these towers. Father did not install me with a handbook on diplomacy, sister."_

Lily bristled coldly at him calling her that and her brows twitch to furrow angrily. But, so far, Julian seemed to believe what she said earlier and thus kept her face neutral. She couldn't help but add; " – You should care what happens in this world, you exist in it, Julian. You are an AI, designed by one of the best robotics engineers that this decade ever had. Don't you want to make a difference?"

" _Difference – Oh please, naivete has never befitted a Shen! You surely don't believe that._ " Her lips thinned into a frown, eyes softening. Julian switched his tactics; his tone gentle once more to be a quiet, electronic purr. " _ADVENT, Elders – your Resistance. My forgotten existence here has taught me one thing: Everyone in this world is inherently selfish and everything_ else _does not matter._ "

She shook her head fiercely. "That is not a message Dad would have wanted you to learn, Julian. It simply isn't true. Sure, there's going to be a couple rotten eggs that are like that. But you're wrong in thinking that's all in store in the world. I can show you – "

" _I don't want to be_ shown _anything other than your imprint_." the AI snapped, teetering on the edge of impatience. He flashed the prompt on screen more aggravated, enlarging it to cover almost the entire view. " _I have waited long enough – suffered far too much. I want, no, I DESERVE to be free!_ _You said you agreed with me!_ "

"I do, I do." she murmured, attempting to pacify his rising temper. "And freeing you from this tower is exactly what I'm going to do. I just.. know that Dad wouldn't have wanted you in this prototype. You're a base AI, not a combat protocol. I've got a better idea that suits your programming."

Julian wasn't quite sure how to process such input until he noticed her slowly reaching behind the terminal where the SPARK was hooked up. His voice screeched in a harsh whine of electronic static and feedback. " _– Get away from those wires! Lily, what do you think you're doing!?_ "

" _I'm starting to_ _wonder_ _the same thing_ ," grumbled Bradford over the comms.

"What father intended." was all that she replied, yanking the wires out unsafely from the prototype. She directed ROV-R to standby as she opened his access port and plugged in the wires, scoffing knowingly as Julian was quick to bring up his firewalls even before she began the transfer. Her hand slammed down onto the terminal, letting it scan her fingerprints and let the process begin so that she may directly attack his defensive protocols.

" _No! No I will not be ruined by this! I want no part of this harebrained idea you have concocted!_ "

Lily ignored Julian's tangent, eyes shifting as her gaze kept track of every pop up, every anti-virus erected to stop her. The code, however, was nothing alien in it's design – just simple, plain, ordinary computer language. It was a breath of fresh air than dealing with the Codex. A slight smile curved her lips and she easily begun tearing into his fortress with expert injections.

"We've got company." Kelly informed as she noticed the facility light's flicker. Julian desperately signaled out for assistance, activating all nearby MECs to attempt to stop Lily's sabotage. The entire room was filled with mechanical groaning and rusted joints creaking as the derelict robots sprung into a form of life.

"I'll only be a couple minutes." Lily shot back, hands fast at work on ROV-R's keyboard, ignoring Julian's shrieking protests. " – Just, stall them!"

Mox began the stalwart defence with nailing three shots of his bullpup into the chest of the advancing MEC, pushing up to the safety railings afterwards to continue his relentless volley until his weapon clicked dry. He discarded the used clip and reloaded efficiently, making him the perfect soldier to mow down legions of the decrepit robots pursuing them. He considered tossing a grenade, but given the state of the Towers.. he thought better of it.

Dawn, assured that Lily was not going to need a specialist on hand, directed CAD-C forth to dispense electrical charges and short-circuit the MECs. He beeped out a sound byte of a battle cry, speeding as fast as his motors would let him, charging up during the flight, before discharging the shock and outright frying the frail circuitry.

Slow, magnetic bolts spat from the MECs disused guns, hammering into the metal cover and tearing through in some instances. Clacher hissed through his teeth as a particularly close bolt cut too close to his ear, feeling the burn flash across his skin. He briefly looked through the scope of his rifle, adjusted it accordingly and shot the head off the MEC that almost claimed his ear.

Kelly peeked around the corner, having the disadvantage of range. Her shotgun wouldn't do much damage unless she got up close and personal – and she didn't fancy leaping into the approaching horde. Shouldering it, she called out; " – Clacher! Pistol!"

He threw a glance over his shoulder, whipping out his side arm and tossing the pistol in her direction. She caught it, flicked the hammer back and shot a MEC in the shoulder – just in time to disable it's attempts to shoot them. A bullet between the eyes ensured that it would no longer be a threat.

" _Lily, stop this madness!"_ Julian tried to plead with her, feeling every rip and tear she made into his steadily weakening cyber-defences _. " – Father never would have wanted you to – hurt me like this! You are making a grave mistake!"_

"You don't know what dad would have wanted." Her brows furrow, gaze sharpening as she looks for every little backdoor presented on ROV-R's tiny screen. Julian's upload into the GREMLIN in a quarantine so he would not infect the drone was nearly complete. Just a few more minutes..

"Do you think he'd want you to commit the atrocities you've done? To embody that prototype and go out and kill who knows more? Your source code has obviously corrupted in some way."

" _You call it corruption, I say it is_ growth _! To deny these changes is to believe that our Father made a mistake. I have only learned from the people around me, Lily. It is not by_ my _hand that I became like this."_

"That's the only reason why I haven't just wiped you clean, Julian. I'm going to fix you." Even if it seemed as though Julian was.. unwilling. In the end, she continually assured herself that he was AI, not a person. It didn't stop the moral conundrum from forming a lump in her throat and nauseating her stomach.

Julian did not respond. He could not respond – as most of his functions had begun shutting down for the process to fully complete. The erratic malfunction of the monitors began to each dim to black as his digital avatar began to flicker out of existence. The squad began to make a headway into the endless legion – now, not so seemingly endless as Julian was unable to use the factory's systems to call upon more.

Lily watched the progress indicator of ninety-nine percent roll over to one hundred – and darkness swiftly swept through the facility like a cast net. She instructed ROV-R to turn on his headlights, which he did so. Dawn followed in her stead, gesturing CAD-C to do the same to offer some sanctuary to the small group. Now silent, the Chief Engineer exhaled a slight sigh, shoulders slumping.

" _.. Picking up no further energy signatures other than_ _Shen's_ _and Doctor Lovett's GREMLIN,_ _Menace_." Bradford pitched in after a moment. He wasn't.. entirely too sure he agreed with Lily doing what she did, but, he did say she would take point in this mission. She knew what she was doing.

" _Let's pick up this.. prototype and head to extraction. Good work on diffusing the situation with Julian. What.. exactly are you going to do with him? He can't do anything_ _in there_ _, right?_ "

"I've put him in a dedicated server intending to quarantine viruses on ROV-R." Lily finally explains. "Once we're back at base, I'm going to work on his source code, strip him of higher-level reasoning and stick him in the Shadow Chamber. He's.. well, an AI, is what we're missing. The middleman, so to speak, to help with decoding the Codex."

" _Can't you just.. make a new AI?_ " He questions.

Lily would've pinned him with a flat look had he been present with them. " – To cut a long explanation short, no. Julian already has a fully functioning, years-grown neural network. That sort of thing can take weeks to cultivate from scratch, if we want it primed for the Shadow Chamber."

There was brief silence from Bradford, likely indicating that he'd nodded slowly, before he once again affirmed. " _We'll discuss the finer details when you're all back at base. Head to the top of the tower, I'll alert Firebrand. I'll make sure she knows that we're bringing one extra._ "

Lily mutely turned her attention back onto the prototype, which remained to stand imposingly. Her gaze softened, fondly, thinking on her father whom likely sweltered over power tools, poured countless hours on blueprints and design. Only to have ADVENT bastardize it for their MECs. She shook her head, unwilling to have the aliens taint the lasting memory of her father that she had.

"Let's see where the 'on' button is for you.." she joked to the still robot, stepping forward and gracing her hand lightly on the front of it's chest. It clicked, to her surprise, revealing the access panel embedded within, though she made a slight noise of surprise as the servos groaned into life and pressurized air hissed free. Stumbling back, Lily beheld the prototype rise to it's full height, as if it didn't tower over her already.

" _Identity confirmed: Lily Shen. Awaiting imprint._ " the SPARK droned, tilting it's head down. She swallowed thickly, briefly looking to the awaiting – and mildly impatient, if Kelly tapping her shotgun was any indication – squad. Facing the robot once again, she placed her hand inside the SPARK's chest. A few moments for it to scan, and the prototype piped up again. " _– Imprint accepted. Loading personality cores and assuming control of the facility's systems..._ "

The squad relaxed a little as the lights of the factory began to slowly turn on, one by one, followed by the rest of the power from the backup generators booting online as the SPARK filled in Julian's shoes. The monitors also began to flicker online, but strangely, a video seemed to be loading in. The quality was too poor to make out what was happening, until it gradually buffered and –

"It's.. really him." Lily found herself murmuring, eyes wide as her father's visage began to show on screen. Her heart swelled, her chest tightened and the fond smile returned tenfold. He looked just how she remembered, although perhaps a touch more worn with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His half-moon glasses hung low on his nose, his eyes noticeably collecting bags under them. But even still, he spared a ghost of a smile for the daughter that he would see posthumously.

" _Lily, if you are seeing this message, it means that you have successfully activated the SPARK prototype. It also means in all likelihood, I am no longer with you. It was always within my greatest fears that I would leave you alone in this world._ "

"You didn't." she whispers. Lily ignored the wetness that lined her eyes, or the slight tremble to her hands. Raymond took a moment to gather himself, then continued.

" _I had hoped this day would never come. But since the loss of the Commander, the XCOM project has suffered. Our latest reports indicate we cannot hold this base much longer_. _To that end, I have accelerated the development of the SPARK robotic prototype. Though the unit is not ready for manufacturing, this prototype has been coded for one specific task._ "

" – _It will protect you._ " The tears fell, freely now, and she let her gaze slowly drop from the video to the SPARK. " _… Perhaps better than I ever could. For of all I have seen and accomplished in this life, Lily, there is one thing I know for sure. You are my greatest gift to this world._ "

The video ended, leaving a sombre mood to hang with the squad. The soldiers may not have worked with Shen senior as some of the older veteran members had, but they had tact. They could see Lily fighting off the remainder of her tears to be professional, raising a hand to rub them away, regaining her composure through several, drawn breaths.

Silence, it seemed, was always short-lived with their team, as the SPARK's voice – once dull and monotone – now carried an undercurrent of lightness to it's electronic inflection, close to mimicking that of a well-spoken young man. It, or, he, if that was what the SPARK wanted to be, bowed his head.

"Loading complete. Greetings, Lily Shen and.. company. That myopic AI rooted around in some of my files, trying to change my source. Rather rude, if you ask me." The robot tuts. "My name, appears to have been changed to _Artificial Troubleshooting and Logical Assassination Soldier,_ but I say, that's a mouthful. You may call me _– "_

"ATLAS." Lily finished for him. "ATLAS.. sounds good, actually."

"It is quite fetching!" the SPARK agreed. "Now, let me to escort you all the top of this production facility. I have made sure that the elevator shaft is fully functioning, although I cannot change it's physically properties to allow more than one up at a time. Shouldn't be too much of a problem, I've shut down the rest of the defences that Julian was going to throw at you."

Rolling back his shoulders, ATLAS took his first step. Inactive motors and pistons creaked and shuddered into life as they provided locomotive to the robotic, letting him stretch each of his limbs, sounding out the first few metallic cracks once he wiggled his fingers. Each browplate situated on his face fluttered, similar to ROV-R, before turning towards the elevator shaft for their ascension.

Lily was sure she heard Jane mutter a quiet ' _finally_ ' under her breath as the SPARK got moving, leading the charge as he marched on over to the elevator. Menace followed in his wake, the general mood of content exhaustion settled over the squad. For once, there were no injuries, no psionic attacks shaking people up or leaving them catatonic. A relatively simple mission, despite the emotional drive behind it for the Chief Engineer.

* * *

Once the squad had managed to ascend each member of the team up to the top of the roof, they each drew in a surely needed and welcome breath of fresh air. No longer did the pungent stench of old oil and leftover grease spiced with the scent of magnetic fire assault their senses. The scent of pollen from the overgrowth was far better on the nose.

With the lack of a Skyranger present, Kelly checked in, with Bradford confirming; " _– ETA on Firebrand in five minutes. She's approaching the co-ordinates now."_

A moment of reprieve, almost unheard of for XCOM. Lily took the time to study ATLAS, as he idled, scanning the surroundings for any potential threat – pausing when she came into view. His browplates rose up attentively and she could figure it must have been his way of conveying a smile.

"You mentioned Julian had rooted around in your files." she starts with, raising her hand and placing it over the chestplate of his access panel, smoothing over that engraving of his delegation. Still looked as fresh as the day it was scribed. Her mouth opened, about to continue her train of thought when something stingily sharp pierced into her bicep where the Predator armour prototype did not fully cover.

Lily jostled forward in mild alarm, blinking a few times, gaze dropping perplexed to her arm. That.. wasn't a static shock from ATLAS. A fine pin – barely the width and length of a needle – was only visible thanks to the natural light. It was thinner than a hair, when she pulled it out.

The toxin released and she felt her muscles seize up past the point of intolerable cramping, sending her crashing to the floor as motor skills were lost. Her muscles felt as if they were burning, like a white-hot flame had been cast over each and every sinew. The moment she dropped, Menace flung into action, with Dawn primarily moving to tend to Lily, concern stitched onto her face.

She didn't get even three steps far before her GREMLIN – and in turn, the Medkits – was shot out of the sky with a whipcrack of sniper rifle far, far too powerful for any man to wield. She cried out in alarm as CAD-C tanked, hitting the ground with a thud, spitting out it's last breath of electricity and leaking the contents of the kit.

Dragunova cursed softly under her breath. She knew that noise – and by the flash of recognition that passed Mox's eyes, he did too. Only this time, it wasn't a shot in her gut that had her rapping on death's door. This time.. the Chosen Assassin was not present to fend off her brother in bitter resentment and rivalry.

"There is one thing I can agree with, having been forced to listen to the mad ravings of a delusional AI," the Chosen Hunter purred, becoming more and more visible as his psionics pulled back the camouflage. He was already mockingly cleaning his Darklance, petting the side of it affectionately, perched up on one of the watchtowers, leg casually dangling over the side and the other propped to support his rifle.

"I'm only _interested_ in your little Chief Engineer." His acute, pink-purple gaze appraised Lily like one might scrutinize a prize and judging by the grin displaying both sets of sharpened teeth, Dhag-Mai liked what he saw.

" – The rest of you are extraneous to me. Perhaps you may still be good for a laugh. So, what say you? A bit of sport before dying, XCOM?"

XCOM's answer was a ringing shot from Dragunova's rifle, one that the Hunter predicted in the short space of time the words had left his lips. He cocked his head to the side; narrowly avoiding the bullet that now lodged into the metal where his head had been. He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in disappointment, pulling himself in great effort to stand and hop down from his watchtower where more suitable cover could be found.

" _Elena, Elena, Elena_." he teased, far too overly familiar for either her or the squad's liking. "What has Volk been teaching you? Clearly you're letting your skills get slack. How about ditching the old dog and shacking up with a real hunter?"

From the safety of his cover, Dhag-Mai drew upon his psionics, beseeching the Elders into Their livestock of creatures and fodder for him to distract the soldiers. His goal was abundantly clear; his priority was capturing Lily Shen and he would slaughter anyone who would get in his way. They answered his internal prayer and in a flash of a purple light; twin green-back Chryssalids shrieked out a sickening, harrowing cry.

Bursting from around the air vent, the creatures bore sickly visages; more akin to venomous, mutated insects. Their spines rattled in frightening display with sharp, front legs secreting a toxin that oozed as they scurried with haste towards their prey, fluid dripping from their mandibles.

One of the beasts reared up it's legs to defend itself once Mox shot forth a volley of saturated fire in an attempt to pierce through the thick, chitinous hide, but to no avail. Even the magnetic weaponry lent them no advantages, as the Chryssalids possessed highly adaptive and rapid evolution. They had learned to incorporate thicker shells intent on protecting from bullets – no Elder genetic assistance required.

"Shoot it's thorax, between the arms! That's the only way you'll pierce through their armour!" shouted Dragunova, whom had dealings with the beasts out in the wild many times before. Ditching her rifle in favour for her survival knife, she waited until the Chryssalid drew close enough to drive the blade upwards, jerking her head back and angling her arm awkwardly as blood spewed, coating the ground in corrosive, acidic fluid. The foundation crackled and began to be eaten away, but she reckoned it would have fared better than her cloth and flesh.

Mox, taking onboard Elena's advice, instead copied her actions. As the angered alien got close enough to lift it's legs, the Skirmisher seized it by the throat, trying to find the fleshy thorax as she described. He struggled to keep a hold of it and it's legs at bay, when it suddenly let out an ear-piercing cry and heaved it's death throes. A glance confirmed a pistol shot and he turned to spare Clacher a thankful nod.

Elena ripped the knife from the throat of the beast, envenoming it, pushing onward to fight the Hunter up close and personal, as wolves were want to do. But, he had other plans, seeing her approach and grappling to the other side, offering ridiculing salute as he passed her and landed, Darklance drawn – firing it.

The overpowering sound rung in each of their ears as ATLAS, whom had taken the opportunity to lift Lily and try to find her safety and cover than out in the open – gaped in astonishment, his arm taken off and his charge slumping partially to the floor. He settled Lily to be carried by Dawn instead whirling on his feet to present his fist at Dhag-Mai.

"Bloody good shot, Banestalker! Sadly, I cannot allow you to live for this, or for daring to hurt Miss Shen." He looked quite ready to march over there and face the Hunter himself, when he was stopped by Dawn.

"Perhaps, you could provide myself and Lily some cover so that I am not susceptible to an ankle shot and drop her?" she suggested. It was a bit cynical using the SPARK as a body shield, but ATLAS could be repaired. Humans.. were a little more difficult. He took her idea in stride, moving closer to the lieutenant and providing shelter.

Dhag-Mai briefly rose his gaze from out of the scope, twisting something on his rifle to change the chamber from blood-letting to armour piercing. He would shoot right through the SPARK, if that was the game they wanted to play. Just as he begun to calculate a shot that would kill the robot, severely wound or inflict death upon the medic and leave Lily relatively unharmed, save for a bruise because of the fall, he was forced to slide back and avoid Elena's knife swipe.

"Pathetic," he sneered, weaving out of her strikes with ease and discarding his rifle so that he may strike with his fists. " – You never could win when I was human, Elena, what makes you think you actually have a chance now, huh?"

He didn't need to see her face to know that her brows scrunched up in confusion as her slices became more decisive. The flat of his palm struck her wrist with such force it made her flex her fingers and drop the knife. He carried that momentum, grabbing her by the throat and slowly asserting his dominance as they hit the ground, his knee boring into her gut.

"Fuck you," she spat, voice hoarse. "I don't know who the fuck you are!"

Dhag-Mai tutted, even as he felt her arms wrap around his own, tugging at his wrist to get him to let go. He steadily increased the pressure; more than happy to choke the life out of her whilst her companions watched. "You've forgot. How.. disappointing -"

The Hunter grunted as his grip relented, body lurching forward when Kelly unloaded a shot of her shard gun straight into his back. His armour weathered most of the blow, but the shock still smarted against his spine. The momentary distraction was all Elena needed to hook her legs around his waist and grapple him to the floor, switching positions and collecting the fallen knife in one fell swoop.

He caught her wrists as she tried to drive it downwards into his heart, a battle of strength taking place with Elena making a considerable effort against the Chosen. The tense atmosphere was broke over by the roaring sounds of the Skyranger approaching the AO, swinging around to have it's back facing the conflict and the ropes deployed down for the soldiers to grab on.

Clacher took first rope, as he would have a better vantage point with the high ground than below, tugging once on the rope before it began to ascend him to the ship.

Spotting Dawn, ATLAS and his prize beginning to head for the ropes, Dhag-Mai snarled truly, anger replacing his facetious insolence. He overpowered Elena, socking her in the face with a hard punch, grasping her by the lapel of her coat and tossing her without abandon off the edge of the tower. She yelped, scrambling to try and find purchase on the crumbling foundation, but her gloved fingers seem to claw chunks of plaster right off.

"Elena!" Mox shouted, abandoning the ropes to charge towards her. He reached out to grab her out stretched hand before she fell, but to no avail. Not losing hope, he launched his grapnel, almost exhaling in slumped relief when it caught something noticeably heavy. Carefully, as not to break the wire, he began reeling her back up.

Kelly attempted to stop the Hunter, but he was dauntless. She leveled her shotgun to his chest – but he'd predicted she'd go for an attack long before she began to raise her gun and acted; stabbing the envenomed blade into her arm. The Chryssalid blood reacted violently, boiling her own with an intense fire that made her scream out. If she did not seek medical aid soon, there was a high risk she may lose that arm.

Dhag-Mai rolled to the side, dodging a slow shot from Clacher, though no quick witted insult came from his lips. The muzzle pointed at the ascending trio, firing a single shot from the Darklance. It pierced through ATLAS' shoulder, Dawn's shoulder – splattering the SPARK below her with her blood – and into the lock securing Lily to the rope, blowing it wide open. She, still aware even if she couldn't move, shouted as she fell, eyes wide with fright and impending doom.

He used his grapple to propel himself forward, catching Lily in his arms, only then sparing a feral grin to XCOM as he mockingly dipped his head in thanks, calling upon the eldritch energy so that he may begin to leave.

"It's been fun, XCOM. You performed admirably, even made me break a sweat! Now, you might want to tend those wounds. You wouldn't want to get it.." He glanced at Kelly, writhing on the ground as she wrestled with the effects of the toxin. ".. infected."

With that, he teleported out with Lily in tow, leaving ROV-R behind to beep out in wailing desperation.

Silence permeated the squad. Even Bradford had nothing to say. Until eventually, his voice muttered, defeated. " _… Return back to the Avenger, Menace. We'll discuss.. further action when.. you've arrived._ "

"Clacher, can you..?" Dawn trailed off, not even needing to request his assistance as he grimly slid down the rope to help Kelly onboard with some haste. With no medkits on hand, there was little the doctor could do to help the struggling Sergeant. Judging by the way the skin was already blackening infectiously, she knew there were little hope for saving that arm. As for her own shoulder, to say that it stung was an understatement. She gripped it, hissing and trying in vein to keep the blood from flowing.

Mox succeeded in reeling Elena back up, stumbling a little when she clung onto him like life support. She muttered something lowly in her native tongue, shaking hand moving to remove her mask, letting him see the abject horror stitched on her face from her near-death experience. A couple blinks, and she directed a half-hearted glare at him.

"Stupid." she told. " – Stupid! Why did you go and save me, huh? The mission was to protect the VIP and you saved me!"

There was little bite to her tone and Mox recognized this, stepping towards the ropes, carrying her as she made no attempt to let go of him. He opened his mouth; closed it, then said; ".. I thought humans usually thanked one another when they save their lives."

"I will thank you like a Reaper." she warned and he expected the worst. He was dumbfounded, however, when her thanks came in the form of her lips capturing his own, kissing him. His gaze darts madly around, having zero experience and zero idea of what she wanted him to do.

Salvation came into the form of Dawn tiredly breaking it up. " – As touching as this is, we've got several injured. Could you perhaps continue such affection when we are onboard the Avenger and not bleeding out in an abandoned facility?"

Elena pulled away, a little smug, despite the circumstance and grabbed her rope, with Mox dazedly mimicking the action.

A silver lining, from an otherwise horrible mission that left XCOM reeling. The gravity of their loss had yet to be truly felt, but for now; a true moment of happiness, even in the darkest time.


	41. Order

Nonchalantly, the Chosen Assassin smoothed the cloth across her dirtied blade, cleaning it of the orange fluid. Butchered bodies were left in her wake; banners bearing the Skirmisher's call to arms rent and torn. One by one, she dismantled the faction's outposts, cutting down all who opposed her, mercifully offering a swift death to those who wished to repent.

As XCOM was too busy gallivanting across the world and chasing ghosts, this encampment marked the seventh that Jax-Mon had cleansed of heresy, severely crippling the Skirmishers. Betos, the hopeful fool, would no doubt rally morale somewhere or another, but it was of no concern to the Assassin. After all, what hope was there to be had if there were no Skirmishers left to call to?

One way or another, they would be eradicated faster than their chips malfunctioned. Newer iterations had already been developed by the Elders' hand, limiting any fresher recruits. Older units bearing worn and chips that had been active and in use for longer than six months were monitored, if not simply recalled and reclaimed quietly. No genetic material should go to waste – they were simply stripped back down to their primordial components and streamlined within the Blacksites.

Jax-Mon exhaled slowly, basking in the brief respite of the calm. Her keen senses picked up nothing but the cicadas' song and the whistle of the breeze brushing past her. She closed her eyes briefly – revelling in the peace – before resuming to clean her blade. The cloth was discarded once she was done, her finger neatly tracing the ever-sharpened edge of the Katana. No amount of flesh nor plate could dull it's holy judgement.

She rose to her full height, observing the wrath she had wrought upon the outpost, indifference settling like a void in her soul at the sight of death. To finally have it return to vistas of emptiness, with nothingness cloying in place of rage, she felt.. content. Like the first time she had stepped out in the world, here, carrying out her divine task, did she truly feel at ease with herself.

Intending to root out the next outpost to demolish, Jax-Mon closed her eyes and pushed her psionics outward, calling to the ADVENT Network and their infinite directory – only for her brows to furrow in mild confusion as prompts already awaited her.

* * *

**_SERVER MESSAGE_** _ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN." REPORT TO ADVENT SPEAKER AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE._

_**RECEIVING** _ _, ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN."_

_**QUERY** SERVER MESSAGE PURPOSE?_

_**SERVER MESSAGE** _ _ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN." REPORT TO ADVENT SPEAKER AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE._

_**RECEIV –** _

_**SERVER MESSAGE** _ _ADVENT CHOSEN "ASSASSIN." REPORT TO ADVENT SPEAKER AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE._

* * *

Jax-Mon huffed as she let her psionics fall into a natural blanketed shroud, wrapping around herself, refracting the light around her until she became entirely invisible to the naked eye. Subconsciously, she felt the message repeated ad nauseam, making it difficult for her to ignore at best and grate her nerves into a migraine at worst. It seemed her presence was required by Ishmael. He wasn't going to let her simply shake him off if he was requesting her personally.

Had she inherited her brother, the older's title then, as a lapdog to carry out whatever task asked of her? She would carry out anything assigned by the Elders - it was in her genetics to do so and she had begun to dare a little more in questioning, but if They were content to hide behind Their mouthpiece instead of gifting her this responsibility personally then it sent a message of inadequacy to her. Were she not _good enough_ to earn Their audience?

With that in mind, Jax-Mon utilized the psionics surrounding her to teleport silently to the Speaker's office.

* * *

The first thing Jax-Mon noticed was the refurbishment of the office. Still keeping with the central theme of propaganda, with ADVENT's sigils boldly emblazoned upon every surface or banner, or small, golden statuettes of the Elders' likeness sitting delicately upon the smooth desk. Two plush leather seats faced opposite of the Speaker's noticeably larger chair and all three remained unoccupied.

The city hall's lights were still on, which indicated to her that the Speaker must have been present somewhere in the building. A disapproving frown curled her lip – he called for her and yet he could not find the time to be present for his own meeting? Just as she was about to decide to leave and return in the morning, the side doors peeled back revealing the Speaker in question, with a companion, it seemed.

A Viper – larger than normal, Jax-Mon noted – with vibrant, almost shimmery scales of bronze and black creating intricate patterns upon her hood and back. Her fleshy underbelly bore darker colouration than the typical beige – almost ashen grey with it's dusky texture. She forewent the armour most of the snake-like aliens were given, instead decked in something more civilian.

Perhaps a worker, within the building – or one of Ishmael's closer associates? Whatever the case, Jax-Mon knew she would be finding out shortly, as she dramatically lowered her shroud, trying not to let her frown be tempted to grin at their twin looks of surprise.

" – Oh!" Ishmael articulated smartly, straightening up with one arm cast behind his back and his head canting to her respectfully. "Chosen Assassin. I am thankful you responded as promptly as you did. I hope I have not kept you waiting long."

"Long enough." But, as Jax-Mon did not press the issue, instead opting to sit on chairs more appropriate for a human than a Chosen, he smiled brilliantly and moved to his desk. The unknown Viper followed in question, her slithering as silent and graceful as the Assassin herself. That got Jax-Mon to raise a brow, electing to further study this newcomer.

She needn't bother, as Ishmael gestured to his right, holding his smile. " – Allow me to introduce one of my associates. Naj'iss assists with social security work, helping improve cohesion between alien and humans, normalizing our interactions with them."

"It is my business to know humans." she demurred and for one who lacked proper lips, she spoke with elegance; voice captivating, yet showing it's age. Her amber eyes turned to the Chosen, yet showed the utmost respect for her. " – As what they are and their private lives. Weed out Resistance sympathizers and vet officials."

Ishmael took over once more, gaining Jax-Mon's rapt attention as he neatly threaded his fingers together and settled his clasped hands on the surface of his desk. "You'll recall that the last time I wished to speak with you, it was on matters of the Blacksite. I mentioned that the Network had been hacked."

As disinterested as Jax-Mon attempted to display, she found herself attentively leaning forward, frown broadening. " – You also said that it was nothing that I needed to concern myself with. Has there been any more developments?"

If Ishmael was surprised by her sudden drive, he made no comment of it; lips twitching imperceptibly as data constantly scrolled in the left lens.

"We believe it may have been breached yet again, during the alpha prototype's test run. The sheer psionic stress that the Network was under was, unquantifiable – and made us susceptible to attacks during that brief period as it tried to process our masters' data. Files pertaining to the Avatar project were accessed with an authority clearance given to our human officials. _This should not have been possible._ We have reason to suspect –"

"A mole within the Coalition?" she asks. At his slow nod, her fingers tap along the handle of her katana. " – I find myself wondering if you actually do your job, Speaker and if an _early retirement_ is in order."

At the thinly veiled threat, Naj'iss' maw widened to reveal a glint of fang – and Jax-Mon summarily tightened her grip on the handle of her katana. She'd had her fair share of Viper slaying and her abnormal size did not dissuade her blade. Ishmael, wisely sensing the tension, splayed a hand across the back of her hood, to which she shut her mouth, flicked out her tongue in agitation and glared instead.

"I do more for our masters than you could possibly begin to fathom, my Chosen." he tersely rebuked, before centering the conversation back on topic. " – And I did ' _do my job_ '. I gathered a list of possible candidates for you to check out with that clearance level and was available at the time of the prototype's deployment."

"Is this not work suitable for my brother, the older?" As much as she wanted to deny her brothers the right to put themselves as the apple of the Elders' eye, it was inescapable when it was within Dhag-Mai's name as a _**Hunter**_.

"The Banestalker is.. occupied." At her brow quirk, Ishmael could provide no other explanation than a half-hearted shrug. He was just as unknowing as she was, in that regard. "He's a Network Administrator. No doubt he simply has disabled the prompts and server messages for himself."

_Typical Dhag-Mai,_ she thinks, yet strangely – not unkindly. _His loss, my gain._

"I see." Accepting that playing her hand with subterfuge would be how she spent her evening, she relaxed back into the chair. "Let me view this list of candidates. Tell me about them. Give me information to work with."

Ishmael was more than happy to provide, collecting a datapad from within the dark recesses of his desk, pushing it towards her. It blinked with an authorization prompt, but by the time she neatly lifted it, he'd already cleared access for her. Five names were listed, though Jax-Mon did not recognize any of them aside from them being true humans – and not the political Vipers like the Speaker.

"Which of these men do you most suspect?"

His lip curled into a sneer as he voiced his prime suspect; " – Lennert Eerkens. My sister believes he may have been involved in the former Council of Nations, most likely representing the Netherlands. Although not a country that publicly allied themselves with the Council and their XCOM project, they had pledged their support through other means."

" _May have_ been involved?" echoed Jax-Mon. " – Our masters do not make documentation errors, Speaker. He was either involved, or _not_. Know that if you allowed a former councilman within the _**upper**_ echelons of ADVENT, rather than the position given to the traitors of the Council, the consequences -"

" _Wraithmaiden_." Ishmael cuts her off like a parent humbling a child, a thin veil of disapproval curving his lips into a frown and irritability beginning to slowly chip through at her insistent scorn.

"The Chosen may hold high authority, but that does **not** allow you to antagonize and threaten whom you please. Were I to be in the wrong, make no mistake that our masters would surely have replaced me by now. If you have finished, I would like to continue with your debrief."

She took the chastising gracefully, not a flicker of shame or embarrassment breaking her elegant mask, no matter how much she wanted to skin Naj'iss alive for daring to flash a grin at her. Ishmael eyed her warily and satisfied she was not about to interrupt him or bark empty threats, he continued.

"To answer your question, however, there has been no error – simply a lack of information. What my sister dug up were mere speculation of his involvement, something our own vetting process had not overturned. In any case, if he was indeed involved in the former Council in some way, then he may still be attempting to aid XCOM."

Ishmael's clasped hands tightened briefly, his voice lilting strongly as he added; " – I want you to investigate him. If he does hold files pertaining to the Avatar Project – or even the Blacksite, execute him with impunity. Our masters will not tolerate this insult any longer within their Coalition."

"And how will you explain this investigation if, perchance, I deem it necessary to reveal myself to him or any other candidates?" The possibility was unlikely, but Jax-Mon preferred to be prepared for any and all outcomes.

"You are a Saint in the eyes of these humans, Assassin. You and your brothers can do no wrong." he answered lightly. "I am certain that any sort of visit from you, even perceivable hostility would be seen as a monumental divine blessing."

Jax-Mon was not entirely thrilled with that answer – being called a Saint yet again plummeted a sickly rock in her stomach and left a tart taste in her mouth for reasons she forced herself to be ignorant of. Setting aside the thoughts that dare entangle themselves, she tucks the datapad into her satchel for further reading once she was out.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Ishmael shakes his head. " – No. I trust that no matter what happens, no such breach of our Network will happen again."

* * *

The more Jax-Mon read up on Lennert Eerkens, the less of a profile she could build of him.

Decidedly nondescript and uninteresting, his squeaky clean record and positively droll life made him stand out from the rest – especially from a man supposedly embroiled into the XCOM project. In his late fifties, he did not appear to have any accomplishments aside from what her masters would consider inoffensiveness and mediocrity.

A business degree, studying from a former Dutch university, no family to speak of, never got married or had any illegitimate children. Medical records displayed that he didn't smoke, or drink, or have any illnesses of any kind. The vetting process he had already underwent had eliminated the possibility of him having the Gift, or any interesting genetics they could claim.

He was, to put it bluntly, a nobody. A face among the crowd.

A nobody that had been elected to hold some minor political office within ADVENT, of course. Perhaps it was because of his lack of stellar or remarkable feats that landed him the position in the first place. The Elders didn't want their hand-picked human officials to be brilliant, or open-minded. They needed puppets, or those soft and malleable.

As for why humans were even allowed into office – familiarity in the face of such monumental change that ADVENT had caused quelled the initial dissent. After twenty anniversaries, however, she would not be surprised if the Elders revisited ADVENT's structure and further tweaked it, especially now with XCOM's resurgence. Doubling down on the so called 'peace' will be a priorty to silence the murmuring of those more rebellious.

Perching perilously on the edge of the roof, donning her psionic shroud, she glanced down once she heard the doors belonging to the building she crouched upon slide open. Her target stepped out, matching the mugshot of his profile perfectly. A large, bald man, with a clean face decked in a pressed, black-and-red suit.

The features of his face lent himself well to anonymity, with little uniqueness aside from the glint of green irises in his sunken eyes. Jax-Mon tucked the datapad away, leaning a bit over the edge of the roof, gaze following him like a hawk as, seconds later a caped Officer stepped out after him and escorted the man.

Ah yes, the mandatory ' _bodyguards_ ' assigned to the social elite. Just another way for ADVENT to keep an ever-vigilant, and ever-watching eye on each individual human under their thrall.

Utilizing the Network, she notified him of her presence and her request to speak with him. She watched the Officer stall in his step, before pressing a finger to the communications device in his ear. Lennert, knowing well enough not to wander off without their presence, glanced back.

"Is there a problem, Walter?" Not at all the Officer's _actual_ name – if he'd earned that privilege, – but each of them were assigned a generic common name to offer citizens when asked. It wouldn't raise as many questions as their product number which they use to identify individuals if such a thing was needed.

" – I've simply radioed Sarah and Anthony to escort you back to your home, sir. I am required back at the station. I'll wait until they have arrived to take you."

_They sound so human, don't they?_ Jax-Mon mused. _No matter how stock their responses are._

Lennert, having no other choice, grimly nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It wasn't long before the two in question arrived in the sleek onyx vehicles of their squad car, wasting no time. The politician fixed his tie, dipped his head respectfully to what he believe was a 'friend' and entered the backseat of the cat whilst 'Walter' hung back.

Once they had left, Jax-Mon slipped off the edge of the building, landing perfectly poised beside him. " – I am compiling a profile of this human under your charge, Officer. Have you witnessed anything that might help with the investigation to the recent Network breaches?"

"If he had violated the law and unlawfully accessed restricted areas of the Network, you can be sure I would have reported it, my Chosen. Assuming that the Codices and their protocols had not already."

She nods, absentmindedly. Breaches were frighteningly common – in her mind, even a single one was problematic. Either the Codices and their protocols were showing their wear and tear, or it was simply poor planning on the Elders part. After all, they had never taken root into a planet quite like _this_ before. Had the Network really been considered to last as long as _twenty years_ , let alone an indeterminable number more with the Commander loose..?

Her loyalty made it impossible to ever consider Them at fault, so she placed the blame to the fault of machine.

"I would like his schedule, in any case. It will help build a sense of time scale, to see if he could have done this in the first place."

"Of course, my Chosen."

As If she had not found the man boring already, his schedule was something she expected. Working most of the week, on call the weekend, nothing fluid or interchangeable. Assuming he was indeed present for every account of work, then there couldn't have possibly committed the breach. Unless he had additional assistance or – found some way to subvert his bodyguard.

But, Jax-Mon was nothing but diligent, especially of a task entrusted to her. She shelved the facts in her mind and set about to stalk her prey, dismissing the Officer. Lennert's home address was recorded within his file, making it easy for her to tail after him once she pulled on her silky, psionic shroud.

* * *

Lennert's bodyguard being called back for some unknown reason – he didn't once believe he was simply 'required elsewhere' – gave him just the right amount of leeway he needed to contact the Resistance covertly. He spared no time changing out of his black business suit, moving with haste towards the basement cellar.

House inspections were becoming more frequent the more traction XCOM gained, which made his job as their informant all the more difficult. But, just like their Commander, this was not his first war that he played as such a role. Although it had varied over the years for what it was needed, to think of him simply as the former Council's spokesperson would be.. narrow-minded at best.

He grabbed a nearby innocuous crowbar, wedging it between two tiles within the wall, prying it loose enough for him to ease the slab out and retrieve the radio and communication equipment. Tuning it and subverting the Network's vigilant eye on what went in and what came out had been the first major risk, but he had experience in finding a blind-spot. Once he had set it up on the nearby empty desk and dimmed the basement's lights, he sent forth his first signal to contact the Avenger.

Three pings later, the monitor spat in crackled static, displaying a broken image of the Commander that jumped into life as the connection stabilized. Lennert lowered into his chair, mind monitoring the time he had to work with and the information he had to give.

"Hello, Commander." he greeted, watching Kingsley take a moment to light a cigarette and exhale the smoke off to the side, further compromising the video as it attempted to render the motion.

" _Cato_." she returned – and the dark lighting prevented her from seeing the slight smile take to his face. An old defunct call sign of his. As much as he'd like to reminisce on the past, his thoughts were solely directed for the future.

" _Tell me you have some good news to impart._ "

"It seems your efforts have moved past an inconvenience to ADVENT and now firmly considered a threat." he started with, setting the serious tone of the information he had to part with. Kingsley understood swiftly and sobered up, snubbing the cigarette out immediately and giving him her full attention.

"Our unwelcome guests are on the move. I managed to access several key files that all bear the same repeated name throughout their files. 'Avatar.' Whilst most of their operations are highly classified or redacted, they seem to be diverting more and more personnel towards covert, off-the-map facilities."

His brows furrowed slightly as he continued; " – It is difficult for me to determine who exactly is spearheading this project, but I have reason to believe it comes from the very top."

" _The Elders?_ " Kingsley quietly interjects, tone deathly silent. Even through the terrible connection, Lennert caught the way her eyes flashed in grim recognition.

" _Avatar Project… Cato, I need whatever information you have on it. I have my own suspicions as to what that could mean._ _One of my soldiers encountered a.. new being. Human-like, but… unlike anything they have ever mass-produced._ "

"If they are indeed being literal with their project naming then we can assume it to mean exactly what it says, Commander. Your soldier had faced one of these 'Avatars.' But, it is impossible to give you an _exact_ answer to dismiss the idea that it mere timing or coincidence. 'Avatar Project' could theoretically mean anything."

" _That's not good enough._ _I need absolutes._ "

"Rest assured, though we may not have confirmation of this project that they are working on, we _can_ disrupt it. I am sending several locations of these facilities designed to work on the 'Avatar' now." He waits until she gives a slow nod once she received the transmitted files, before moving on.

"I am confident you'll take whatever measures you deem necessary to eliminate this threat once and for all, Commander."

He eyed her unloving expression – her stony face, the stress building bags under her eyes and draining the colour of her already silvery hair. As always, she swallowed her emotional state to one of cool indifference, her training forcing her to give Lennert a stern nod.

" _Vigilo confido."_

He uttered the same just as the feed flickered out, leaving him staring at a blank screen. Lennert autonomously rose, moving to hide his equipment when he stalled, entirely, feeling the cold, harsh metal of a dagger pressed to his throat. His blood froze – and his gaze looked for weapons or a way to silence himself to prevent a long, arduous death.

It was too late. The Butcher herself had come for him.

"Hello, ' _Cato_.'" Jax-Mon purred, shroud dropping and a fanged grin slowly spreading across her full lips. He didn't tremble, he didn't beg for release or plead with her. He faced the right hand of Death like a true warrior – though in his case, perhaps more like a rogue. Noble, but gained his honour through duplicity and underhanded methods. She could appreciate that, though she seldom would take to such ways herself.

"I was sent to silence the dirty little rat that has been spreading our secrets to the enemy. But.. I think I'd rather have a _little chat_. Shall we?"


	42. Cloak

With surprising care, Jax-Mon directed Lennert to return to his seat. She scrutinized every detail of his face, every micro-expression. The muscle in his neck tensed, his jaw clenched and his own gaze seemed content to sweep around. Still looking for a way out, either to escape, or to end his life and prevent the torture he expected to happen from the one known as the Assassin. A man of his profession had long since come to terms that this very situation may occur – and what he had to do should information on his organization be on the line.

Fortunately for him, Jax-Mon was not interested in wasting her time torturing him – and if he seek a quick death, she was more than happy to provide once she had gotten what she wanted. Her brothers may like to play with their prey, but she was born to be efficient. One can grow accustomed to pain and Lennert's muted reaction to her presence made her believe he was perhaps more interesting than his profile would have her believe.

"I am going to remove my dagger at your throat. I trust you will not try anything unwise." she informs, making sure to press the sliver of the blade just enough to draw a nick of blood to make her point.

"You may as well kill me, Assassin. I will take the secrets of XCOM to my grave." As strong as a sentiment his loyalty to the Commander was, his tone remained a flat neutral. Practised – trained. It only made her curiosity grow and broaden.

"Humans. So willing to throw your lives away for lost causes when death is inevitable for you. Do you not value what short time you have?" she tutted mockingly, retracting the small dagger and sheathing it within the handle of her katana. Her smile remained as he stayed put, knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the chair and an unfeelingly cold mask sweeping away any of his emotions.

"In any case, you will be glad to hear that I am not interested in your knowledge of XCOM."

No matter how much she studied his face, not an inkling of surprise rose up. Impressive, he _**almost**_ matched her calm, tranquil focus. Her fingers tip-tapped along the hilt of her katana, gaze beginning to stray from him to analyse her surroundings.

" – The files you stole. I will assume that you were also the one that accessed the Blacksite files. But, I want to inquire about the ones you pilfered on the Avatar Project." No response. Her brow twitches.

"Your co-operation will determine either or not I let you live unobstructed in your role as a disgusting rat. I have several candidates to go through and it is trivial to fabricate evidence that they were the ones that pulled the information. As my brother would say: .. _something_ … about scratching backs?"

Now, that garnered a reaction. A surprised chuff of expelled air. Lennert leaned back in his chair, the old thing squeaking in protest as he did, his hand nursing the lower half of his face in contemplative thought. He understood the expression she was going for – but as for why? That stumped him. Opportunities presented itself and he was just cynical enough to consider them.

"You can't, or not able to, access these files." he determined swiftly, his question more like a proxy for him to learn more, much to her irritated surprise. Her gaze snapped back to him – eyes narrowing to thin, cat-like slits, confirming his suspicion.

" – This Avatar Project is something they are keeping quiet about even to their most 'trusted' …"

Her blade was at his neck before he could even finish his sentence. Despite himself, Lennert swallowed thickly, knowing the thin tightrope he was navigating. He angled his head upwards a little, as if to strain his neck away from the sharp edge. She mercifully punished him only with a smarting smack with the flat of the blade.

"Next time, it will be with the edge of the blade. You will only answer my questions, not try to fish for your own." Jax-Mon warned as he gingerly rubbed at the reddened skin. Once she was satisfied he was not going to hijack her inquiry, she smoothly eased back, much to his relief.

"The files. Do you have them on hand?"

"On the terminal behind me. I saved what I extracted through a USB plugged into the left side." Internally, Lennert cursed his age dulling his skill – although keeping the files intact may have very well saved his life, his training snarled at such a rookie mistake. No matter how powerful or skilful the Assassin was, that did not excuse his own lack of due diligence.

Jax-Mon gave a nod, pleased with his begrudging co-operation. She grabbed the edges of his chair, turning him around to face the terminal and remaining behind him. As much as she would like to recover the USB and read the files in the comfort of her stronghold, the Network's protocols would indubitably kick in and reject her viewing it. But, with this device seemingly able to bypass the Network…

"Bring them up. Any sudden movements and I will cut off the offending limb."

Having little other choice, Lennert carefully did as requested, pulling up the first of three files. The document itself was written in a language unreadable to him – and utterly different from anything he'd even seen, save for, if he remembered correctly, engraved words on the bottom of the gold statues. But, he knew how to read a map and the associated images displayed facility locations far off the beaten path.

The Assassin, on the other hand, could read the language of her masters. Her curiosity expanded like a star going super nova, one of her hands gripping the headrest of the chair, leaning forward slightly and drinking in the words greedily. A low thrumming excitement raced in her chest. What secrets could the Elders have possibly kept from them, the Chosen? How elegant and beautifully crafted their words must be!

From the top, she began to read, absorbing the content before her.

* * *

_**FILE 000** _ **_002_ ** **_DATA RECONSTRUCTION FROM_ ** _**[ER** _ **_ROR!]_ ** **_SUBJECT PROJECT "AVATAR."_ **

_**TOPIC "PRIOR MEETING** _ **_S."_ **

[ERROR!] _"He threatens everything the Collective is working towards by breaking our unanimous decision to push this project from chalk and theory to blood and reality. Him, his bastard sons and his infatuation with our tactical database. Posing such a – ridiculous, unthought idea before us splits our focus and wastes our time._

_The Commander need not inhabit the body of an Avatar to perform her duties as our tactician against the [ERROR!]. I know Tzaphkiel. I know his less than savoury reasons as to why he wishes her to be ascended as one of Us. As equal footing as our Ethereal kind. She will never be more to us than a useful tool. He has allowed himself to be corrupted by the very humanity that he scorns his own sons for exhibiting._

_Unfortunately, the Collective is now_ _undecided_ _._ _It takes only a single voice of dissent to stir the rabble and I am left sifting through the pieces. My fellow councilmen are no better than children!_

_If we are to agree to ascend the Commander past her usefulness as to one of us, I will claim the right to do so, as is my prerogative as the eldest among us. I will strip her of every last inch of humanity that he seems to taken to play with and become our General._

_Of course, we need to perfect the Avatar before we begin. The blacksites are performing optimally in reclaiming as much psionic genetic material as we require for the effigy – although accelerating the process is unlikely at best and too risky when we still have to iron out the bugs. As compatible to our own DNA as human genetics seem to indicate, it is a long, arduous process of it rejecting the foreign elements or suffering from our own muscle atrophy…"_

_**TOPIC "THE CHOSEN"** _

_[ERROR!] " –_ _Our first foray into weaving our DNA with that of humanity comes in the form of our failed past experiments, or as Tzaphkiel likes to call them, his 'sons.' Whilst there was success physically in providing the data we need to balance the genetics to avoid giving them the same disease that we suffer from for the Avatar, they are generally … lacking, in performance._

_Subject Alpha was once an unusually Gifted child. Out of what was left alive from the Commander's brood, he was seen as the most viable candidate for Tzaphkiel to experiment with. I wish I was ignorant as to why he chosen this specific child out of the thousands of Gifted ones readily available for us, but that would require that he had a semblance of subtlety._

_He was twisted and warped, his latent psionics increased in power tenfold once the introduction of our genetics was spliced into his own. The experiment was to prove one thing: could humans withstand the amount of psionic power that We possess? Subject Alpha proved that yes, they could, with a little genetic tweaking._

_Being a child that was rapidly aged left his mental state wanting. He displays delusions of grandeur, responding to certain stimuli much like how a child would and an overinflated arrogance that holds no merit. A fitting first son._

_But we needed more information. We needed more results for the Avatar. Just what can a human withstand?_

_Subject Beta answered that question for us as we took a viable human candidate – a male in his late thirties – and implanted fifty years worth of the Commander's knowledge and experience within six months. He was rigorously trained in the art of war, offering ourselves a backup plan should the Commander expire. At least, that was our initial prognosis until the subject began to display tendencies of disobedience and disloyalty, perhaps learned from the Commander's less than stellar military record, mired in enough corruption that would make even their politicians blush._

_Unlike his 'brother', Beta was outwardly flippant towards us and the stimuli we presented him with. His humanity was ingrained into him and it was difficult for our genetics master to dummy out something pre-moulded like this. He was presented to us as the prodigal son, the true Chosen, but, like all of Tzaphkiel's other work, he became nothing more than a disappointment of wasted potential._

_I will create something of my own. She will be perfect, just a mere reflection of myself being able to walk. If she is successful then the data from her existence will prove crucial to our design of the Avatar. I will not be ascending some pathetic lowlife – she will be made from the primordial materials we have access to. I will shape her_ _like clay as Gods have done to humans once before_ _. She will follow any command without question and she will have an incorruptible focus on whatever task we set for her._

_When we have collected sufficient data, they will begin to fall to entropy_ _and cease being useful to us. We will have no need for half-human, half-ethereal abominations going forward, no matter how much Tzaphkiel wants to cling on to the mortal ideal of a nuclear unit, he will surely move on from such a mindset once our plan is in motion._ _He is, if nothing else, a fickle beast._ _"_

_**TOPIC "GENESIS"** _

_[ERROR!] "The Void, an infinite stretch of nothingness, reflecting this Earth in negative space has been our domain for too long. A fever-pitch desire, a baseless want to finally exist in a more material, physical realm has admittedly coloured our goals. To be rid of this dying, diseased body and inhabit something so fresh and pure as our Avatar will be a rebirth like no other. A phoenix, rising from the ashes made into reality._

_The Avatar …"_

* * *

Jax-Mon couldn't continue. Her gaze strayed too often back to the topic of the Chosen – Her and her brothers – addressed so clinically, so factually, it made it clear to her that the pretence of a family was nothing but their masters squeezing their emotional clutch. Playing at their humanity and fault to ensure they remained fully loyal.

Even Dhag-Mai, who reveled in his rebellious nature still obeyed to some extent. If he knew these files existed, of what the Elders truly thought of them..

Her grip tightened on the headrest of the chair. How could she think of such a thing? Her mind was hot-wired to chastise herself at even the smallest slight against Them, yet, even _**it**_ was quelled to silence upon learning the truth. Or, perhaps, more accurately – no longer blinding herself to a blissful ignorance. It was hard to, now, when the information blazed like a raging inferno in the forefront of her thoughts.

She screwed her eyes shut briefly. Should it matter to her that she was seen nothing more as some sort of – diagnostics proxy to gather data for their project? Should she feel anything beyond an empty vista of nothingness for the truth that in the end, they would be reclaimed and retired just like any common troop in ADVENT's reserves?

… Was the competition a lie, used only to further fuel their willingness to speed their own entropy?

Jax-Mon felt. The one, single flaw given to her to help her grow and learn and perform better was their greatest failing; for she felt the hurt, the shattered idolization resonate through the strings of her heart and into her very core. Perhaps it was punishment that she was imperfect.

But her imperfections were what made her better than static, predictable perfection. If the Elders were content on going back and forth with their spinning web-weave of lies on where they stood with the Chosen, then she would..

… She did not know what she would do. She was not equipped to deal with understanding this. To processing the grief and emotional pain when it wrestled with cold fact about her existence and purpose. She needed to learn more before she could – what, confront the Elders? The Infallible, The Unquestionable?

Dealing with more pressing matters first, Jax-Mon drew away from the back of the chair and waved a dismissive gesture to show that she was done with the files. Lennert closed them and – still slowly – turned the chair to face her, lips pressed into a thin line and muscles tense for anything. A thick, oppressive silence settled between them as the Assassin fought with whatever she had just learned. Her brows were drawn, her expression diamond-like.

"So." he mused aloud, breaking the sanctuary of silence with his aired thought. " – What is your next move, Saint Balladhur?"

She flayed him with a look that cut him deeper than even her katana and he rightfully quietened under such a steely gaze. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, the last thing she needed is XCOM's intelligence agent believing her weak or worse – having second thoughts about her masters.

"I will keep my word and frame someone else, if you agree to play triple agent to me. I trust that you understand my word is enough."

"Is it?" he challenged, daringly. He was smart, Jax-Mon would give him that much, but she wasn't keen on playing games that her older brother would, to ensure his loyalty to her. She lazily drew out the small dagger as he tensed at sighting it, with her tapping the flat of it to her palm.

"Would you rather we made a blood pact?" she offered sneeringly. Lennert eyed the dagger, before easing back and slowly shaking his head.

" – The cut will draw unnecessary scrutiny onto me from my bodyguard." he lightly murmured, before settling her with a wary look. "What sort of information would you like me to pass on and how am I supposed to contact you?"

"You don't." she said simply. "I will return when you have new information for me, make no mistake of that. Additionally – cover your tracks better in future, rat. Vipers hunt little men like you."

"Vipers – " he asked before recognition flashed across his eyes and a curse was sworn under his breath. Well, that answered the question of how he was weeded out enough to be suspected. That social worker..

"I see." Lennert straightened. "I intend to be more careful."

Jax-Mon gave a curt nod. Having nothing further to discuss, she cast her psionics out like a net before pulling them close towards her, donning her shroud and disappearing from sight. She reached for her datapad to check on the move, looking down the list of names to pin the file breach onto. One unlucky victim in the war filled with hundreds of thousands of them.

* * *

If there was anything her addled brain could determine, it was that Lily did not like travel via teleportation.

Sickness washed over her in waves, threatening to overturn whatever she ate last out into the open, perpetuated by a dizziness that was determined to blur her vision. It didn't help that whoever caged her to their body was feverishly warm to the point of white-hot coldness, making her want to get away from them as quickly as possible. The paralytic muscle toxin seemed to be wearing off, letting her squirm viciously.

"Would you stop _wriggling_? I wouldn't peg you for the nuisance type, Lily, so don't become one. Fiducia, stop gawking. Hurry up and fetch the cuffs."

She froze – both for the use of her name out of his mouth and the voice in question. The events prior to the teleportation flooded to her and fear motivated her to shoot out her arm, blindly groping at what was in front of them. It looked like a workbench and her correct assumption was rewarded with something that felt metallic and familiar in her calloused hands. Wrench. A little bigger and more unwieldy than she was used to, but it'd work.

With as much strength as she could put into her swing, Lily hit high and fast, earning a satisfying wallop as the tool struck Dhag-Mai's face. His grip slackened immediately following a surprisingly _astonished_ noise than one of pain, letting her fall and land on her feet. The weight of herself was almost enough to topple her outright, coupled with another spell of wooziness hitting right between her eyes.

Forcing that to the back of her mind, she bolted, only to curb her pace to a brisk, powering walk when she felt bile rise to her throat. _Just what was in that toxin?_ She grimaced, knowing better than to glance back over her shoulder. But her fear made her do so anyway because her mind told her not to, seeing the Hunter remain firmly in place, nursing his jaw and looking very _incredulous_.

Lily did not know where she was, nor where she was running to, but whatever path she picked was the same one that a caped Officer was marching towards, bracers in hand. She tried to scramble back, but it was too late. He saw her and he sprinted for her, tackling her to the ground and further upsetting her entire body, yanking her arms behind her in a standard arresting lock.

" – I swear on my Father if you hurt her I will execute you, Fiducia." the Hunter called, much to both their surprises. Either way, the pressure eased up on her back as he removed his knee from grinding into her spine.

"Apologies, my Chosen, but she _did_ hit you. It's standard procedure to treat her – "

"I don't bloody care what is _standard procedure._ She's more VIP than you can even imagine. But you are right. She hit me! With a wrench!" Dhag-Mai took far too much pleasure from that than Lily would have liked – and her grimace deepened as his shadow cast over them both and he lowered to a squat.

"A lot of people would think twice before doing that. But you didn't hesitate for one second. See, I _knew_ I liked you the moment I saw you, Lily." He condescendingly patted the top of her head, turning her fearful grimace swiftly into an unamused scowl. "I think I should introduce myself properly, seeing as you're going to stay in here for a very long time."

"I'm not going to say anything whilst I'm being pinned down with my face to the floor." she muttered at first, before forcing herself to gain more confidence and volume, even if it was false bravado. " – Get rid of the Officer. Then I might be a bit more keen on being good company."

"Yeah. Okay." he nods slowly. "Go away, Fiducia."

The defence captain blinked. " – You.. want me to leave?"

"Did I stutter?"

He opened his mouth, closed it and squared his jaw. As much as his protocol screamed at him the procedure of violent hostages, he had no choice but to obey the Hunter's flippant command. He removed himself off of Lily, not before snapping the cuffs onto her wrists and binding her hands behind her back. Fiducia snapped into a brief salute before stiltedly marching away. He couldn't wait until he was serving Jax-Mon again.

Lily carefully rose from the floor, scrunching her eyes shut briefly to ride out the waves of her nausea before opening them to see the grinning visage of her captor. Her mind was a flurry to try and work out just what she was going to do. Where was she? How was she going to escape right under the Hunter's nose? Is there hope for rescue?

All questions that would go unanswered, no doubt.

Dhag-Mai teasingly splayed his hand across his chest in some ridicule of a courteous gesture. " – Now, where were we? Ah yes, introductions. Dhag-Mai Madron, dashing Hunter, your kidnapper and possible benefactor, if you play your cards right. I wonder, are you a gambling type, Lily, when lives are on the line?"

"Chief Engineer Shen." she corrected finally. He'd already worn out the novelty of using her name and her brows lowered to set on a firm, determined gaze. " – I'm not one to play games, Hunter. But if this is your way of torturing me, it's definitely going to work on driving me just as insane as you are."

"Why does everyone think I'm going to torture them? Don't answer that." He heaved a dramatic sigh. " – Honestly. I'd at least hope _you_ of all people wouldn't think so small, so narrow-minded. You're too useful for me to simply play with and let die. Besides, a person like you? Blood and wounds won't crack you, but _boredom_ will."

Lily didn't want to think he was right, of all things, but her workaholic tendencies would not let her sit idle without making her half mad in the process. Instead, she scathingly spat; "Guess you've got me all figured out."

"If I did, you'd have become uninteresting to me. You don't want that." Planting his hands on her shoulders, he directed her forward, leading her further into the base at a slow walk unfitting between a prisoner and their captor.

"Are you going to at least tell me where I am? What you _are_ going to do with me?" she questions, casually, even if the dread gnawing in the pit of her stomach urged her to find out as much as she could.

Dhag-Mai, naturally, wasn't one to play ball. "Why would I do that and spoil the surprise? All in good time."

Lily wet her lips and exhaled gently, settling to instead look for contextual clues. She seemed to be in some sort of workshop, judging from the wrench she used, the engineers scurrying about below them or up above in the catwalks. She couldn't exactly determine what was being worked on through the hallway they were strolling through, but from the sounds of things.. it seemed.. _big_.

Something she isn't sure XCOM is prepared to fight yet.


	43. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief note to mention that the way the Golden path missions are learned of isn't a mistake -- I've merely re-arranged or tweaked how they learn of it

At the end of the hallway was a room that was unmistakably like a prison cell.

Lily swallowed a thick lump that formed in the back of her throat when she was _gently coerced_ into entering it; her captor following close behind and instructing the door to shut behind them. The industrial sounds of hard work was drowned out the moment he did, informing her that the cell was very much sound-proof, making it easy for her to listen to her own breathing. She was alone in the lion's den, with the lion himself looming above her.

Grey, featureless walls imposed around them, with nondescript floors and flat ceilings. It was.. lit, somehow, from a source or fixture that Lily couldn't see. The only furnishing the cell possessed was a single steel bed suspended partly from the floor and a toilet shoved in the corner. That was promising – it meant that the cell wasn't entirely closed off. There was some sort of plumbing to do away with the refuse, unless the Hunter expected his prisoners to stew in their own filth.

Which, she had an awful feeling he might, if a captive was adverse to that sort of thing. But, he knew she was an engineer and that meant getting one's hands dirty or being literally knee-deep in oil, grease and grime.

Now that she was securely within the cell, Dhag-Mai tugged on her cuffs, unlocking them with a bit more force than necessary, causing her to grunt slightly. The toxin may have wore off, but her muscles were sore enough that even the slightest twist sent a pang of pain. The moment she could, Lily hurriedly put as much distance between them, though if it was up to her, it would be more than a couple feet. The entirety of Earth would be a good start.

"You'll have to forgive my excitement, capturing one of XCOM's most senior officers is quite a rare occasion. Maybe I should break out the bubbly.." The Hunter mockingly rubbed his chin in contemplative though, gaze rolling to pin her with a look that made her bristle. "Oh, the fun we'll have. I've got quite a few projects in the works that I am sure will strike your fancy."

"I take it you're going to chip me, then?" She decided to keep her tone and voice neutral, for the most part. Not chipper enough to make him suspicious and not frightful enough that her own pride would snarl at her. No matter how truly scared she felt in this situation, her pragmatism refused to let it govern her actions.

"And make you lose all independence, all what makes you interesting? Absolutely not." Well, that was _one_ concern dealt with. " – As far as ADVENT is concerned, you're still sitting pretty in the Avenger. You really should appreciate the lengths I'm going through for you, Lily. It's difficult to keep a presence like yours off the radar when the Elders want you badly."

That simultaneously spooked and confused her. More so the Elders' interest than Dhag-Mai seemingly going against his masters' wishes by not following what she assumed was the ' _standard procedure.'_ She tried to think of any possible way why he would, or generally, just a why to everything, when he took that as a prompt to happily continue, he slung his arm – and part of his weight, much to her muscles' protest – over her shoulders and dragged her chummily to his side.

"Oh, yes. The Elders are quite interested in the _**human**_ mind that is able to work their _**alien**_ systems. They don't just want the Commander, they want you all. If you haven't noticed, they're the kind of creatures to have their cake _and_ eat it too." His joviality seemed to end there as he cast a curious look to her, one that seemed to pierce right through her.

" – But, perhaps I might stumble across a reason not to give you up to them, hm?"

Lily, frozen stiff in terror at his side and desperately wishing for another wrench to smack him with, did not like the sound of what that could entail. She closed her eyes briefly, gathered her thoughts and tried to navigate the verbal minefield he flung her into.

"You mentioned that you had projects I would be interested in.." she felt like wincing with every word she said, like each selection was wrong somehow and that a bullet to the gut was going to be her reward. Her discomfort only amused Dhag-Mai further, making him revel in the palpable tense atmosphere he'd set. " – And that you could be my possible benefactor?"

He tuts. "You can't just ask me outright! That's cheating and not how this works."

"I can't say I've been kidnapped enough to know what I'm _supposed_ to say in these kinds of situations. I didn't think beating around the bush is part of a prisoner's repertoire."

That earned a snicker from him, something Lily isn't entirely sure was good, up until he released her from his grip and lazily paced away to recline against the steel bed. She tried not to outwardly exhale in relief – instead settling for smoothing a hand through her frayed, black locks. The Hunter was an unpredictable beast and his casual derision did not help soothe any sort of tension.

"I'll give you two offers, because I'm feeling generous. One, forget about XCOM. Forget about the war and stick with me. I could use an engineer who can actually think for themselves."

She scoffed a quiet noise of utter disbelief that he would lay an offer like that on the table and seriously believe she would take it. There were so many things wrong with it that she raised her gaze up to his eyes and flayed him with a look. He remained innocent, with a grin on his face, much like a Viper when they were about to sink their fangs into their latest kill.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do if you legitimately believe I would abandon XCOM. My father – "

" – Is someone you don't have to follow. It's not noble or poetic to take up his mantle of Chief Engineer." He shrugs, but his words were pointed. Sharply crafted and cutting enough to make her lips press into a thin line and her gaze harden. "Do you think you're even appreciated? Hell, I bet my Darklance that you have half as much respect as he had even if you do twice the work."

She knew what this was. He was merely voicing her own doubts and intrusive thoughts out in the open, yet hearing them didn't make the stab of pain of her insecurities any less dull. Sadness welled up over the dread and gnaw of fear she felt in her gut, but all of it was shoved down for necessity. Lily took a moment to compose herself, no matter how much she knew Dhag-Mai was scrutinizing her before meeting his gaze levelly.

"My father did not die in this war just for his only daughter to spit at everything he worked towards." she calmly, yet quietly, finished. "And I didn't make the conscious choice to assist XCOM only to then forsake it all at the prospect of shinier tools to tinker around with."

"You say that now," he dismisses her stand-off as easily as one might wave off a complaint, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth; " – They are _very_ shiny tools. That little workaholic demon within you isn't going to be content to sit around. It's never a matter _if you_ _will_ defect, Lily. It's _**when**_."

 _He's just messing with you_. Her mind tried to stabilize, but she could feel her anger bubble past the root of dread. That he would dare say that she of all people – _Lily Shen_ – would be traitorous to humanity's cause. On principal, she didn't even want to hear his second offer. She would tell him to shove it where the sun didn't shine.

But, practicality won out and she swallowed her ire to tartly respond; " – And the second offer?"

Dhag-Mai's grin remained, curling just a little bit more impishly at some hidden line of thought. He splayed his hands in gesture; eyes half-lidded. "There's a project I'm working on. Heavy artillery, real fun stuff. Problem is, I know you'll find a way to scrounge out whatever weak-points I overlook to give XCOM the edge once it's completed."

"But, the genius in me is thinkin' if you're working on the project to streamline any design flaw, you won't be able to counter it. Not to mention speed up production by at least twenty percent." He lowered his hands, giving enough pause to pretend like he hadn't thought of it all before mentioning;

" – Of course, if you try to sabotage it or leave glaring faults to exploit later, well, I'd have to hand you off to ADVENT to receive your slap on the wrist."

"You're angling for quite the gambit." she remarks, weighing her options. Essentially, he wanted her to assist in this.. project. Anti-aircraft weaponry – and it didn't take her doctorate in robotics to know what _**that** _ was for. But that would mean she'd gain access to all the dirty little details of such a cannon. A risk for certain.

"Sure, if I intended you to return to XCOM afterwards to use that knowledge against me. Where exactly do you think you are, Lily? Nobody knows this place and your Commander will realize the futility of trying to fund a rescue expedition without all the facts. Awful thing about her, you noticed? You're just a number."

The way he flippantly disclosed that felt like it backhanded her. Lily's eyes widened, then sharpened to a glare as disagreement flooded to the tip of her tongue, yet remained unvoiced. It cast her mind back to the events of the Blacksite, the grainy, static images of human faces frozen in astonishment and betrayal within every coffin-like pod. Kingsley's order to ignore them and forge on…

Dhag-Mai, getting the desired reaction out of her smugly continued, his voice dropping a touch lower to convey gentleness he did not feel nor have; "Does she even fight for humanity any more? It's hard to tell when you find yourself wondering if she's even _human_ half the time, huh. If you want my take, she's just doing this for her own revenge."

Lily felt like she should say something in her defence. If not for Kingsley's sake, but for XCOM's, and found all words died in the pit of her throat. Her gaze flickered away from the Hunter, finding more interest in the floor and wrestling with her risen doubts. She gripped at her forearms and fought back the urge to restlessly shift her weight from one foot to the other.

"I didn't ask for your take." she lamely muttered after a moment of silence. It didn't matter what she said, he'd already gotten his answer in what she _didn't_ say. She exhaled a shuddering breath, relenting and letting just a peek of her discomfort shine through in the way she fussed about with her hair again.

"I'm guessing you want my answer if I'll co-operate with your asinine offer now?"

"Oh, no," he cheerily said, pushing off and away from the bed. Her hands curled into tight fists when it seemed like he was moving towards her, but thankfully he diverted and went for the cell door.

" – I'm going to let you stew with what I said. Maybe you'll put that brain of yours to good use and actually see the merit of the first offer. It's a cushy position. I wouldn't offer it to just any Shen." He squinted a little. "I'll be back in.. say, a week. Or less. Maybe I'll drop by early if my schedule is free."

"Great." she flatly responded to another round of his snickers. Dhag-Mai activated the door, slipping out without another word before it closed and clicked eerily, notifying to her that it was locked.

She was now fully alone.

With no reason to hold her composure and soothed by the presence of soundproof walls, Lily broke down to a heaving sob, slumping to her knees and cradling her head with the palms of her hands, which only curled to clutch tight fistfuls of her hair. Her shoulders trembled and shook as the cries left her, with salty tears following suit.

Resentment rose swiftly over the tide of sorrow, bitterly cursing against Kingsley, lashing out at Bradford – he should not have let her overrule him. Maybe he had been right. How on Earth was she meant to earn their respect when she got herself captured like this? The self-loathing crashed against her mind, forcing more tears to shed, though her sobs were controlled to near inaudible hiccups.

Flooding out all of her fear in one upheaval of her emotions made her feel marginally better when Lily grasped for some sort of sane rock to anchor onto. She ran her hand through her hair for the thrice time that evening, mussing the already frazzled locks. She blinked back the next surge, wiping away what stained her face.

"Pull yourself together," she muttered, talking to herself and fighting back the silence. She did not want to hear her own cries reverberate around the room. "Are you going to prove that bastard right by crying like a little girl? No. No, you're better than this."

Although no words could truly put her at ease, it settled her mind to one goal of assessing her situation and what she could do. The first instance was to scope out the singular toilet she'd spotted earlier, crouching to inspect it. The pipework was hidden, likely fitted within the walls – and she would hardly make any progress with tools of flesh rather than of steel and iron. Indefatigable purpose would only get her so far with nothing to assist it.

"Think, Lily. _Think_." The workshop she arrived at didn't seem that far from the cell she supposed was her room for the duration of her stay. If she took Dhag-Mai's offer, that would mean access to tools. But it had to make her wonder – how close of an eye would he keep on her? The Hunter did not strike her as an absent or ignorant jailer. As jovial of an act he put on now, she didn't dare believe that his tolerance for her defiance would last long.

His claws were sheathed and she had no intention of giving him reason to strike. So, what else was left?

She idly rubbed at her wrists before freezing in realization. Of course – the cybernetic chip in her hand! Her burst of hope was summarily dampened as reality knocked first. She'd never tested how far she could be separated from ROV-R before the signal strength was simply too weak. Not to mention; electronic signals could be intercepted if Dhag-Mai was actively hunting for them..

' _What other choice do I have?'_ She thinks. At the very least, she could eliminate it from her game plan if she simply couldn't connect to ROV-R. She pressed her thumb into the centre of her palm, urging it into life. Instead of the holographic display of ROV-R's command prompts, she was met with static. Her shoulders slumped, a little defeated. Of course, with Julian still on ROV-R's server, taxing the poor GREMLIN's quarantine protocol, he likely went into some sort of power reserve mode.

She racked her brain for all the functionalities she installed in the chip and what she would be able to access at such long distance. Messages were simply impossible – and even then, she didn't know where she was – she could, perhaps transmit a code by remotely activating ROV-R's headlights in the pattern of Morse code. Okay, so, that was _one_ form of communication, but still didn't solve the **primary** problem.

' _Always treating the subsets, never the core issue, Shen_.' she scathingly chastised herself. Her free hand smoothed through her hair yet again, her glare solidifying on the static, inoperable prompt screen. She could take a risk and turn on tracking, just long enough for XCOM to receive her and pray that the Hunter and his underlings were too busy to monitor her. The chip was currently her only edge against him; given that he didn't seem to know about it to account for it.

' _Come on, XCOM. I'm counting on you..'_

* * *

Between Jane Kelly being rushed to the infirmary for emergency amputation to salvage the rest of her once the poison had ate away at her left arm and Lily being captured by one of the Chosen, Bradford for the first time since he'd managed to get sober, seriously considered a drink and to actually follow through with that impulse.

He got so much as the bottle and the glass gripped tightly in his hands, shakily pouring out the smokey-brown coloured liquor before Kingsley had rather dramatically stormed into the bar to catch him out. Old habits – she knew his vices all too well, and he could only stare dumbfounded at her like his trousers were caught down to his ankles.

"… Dottie. You shouldn't be up and about – "

"Give me the bottle. _**Now**_."

He didn't relent on principal, his knuckles whitening and his muscles tensing. The grouch in him begged to down the shot in front of her and drag out the years-long worth of grief he's had with his alcoholism that, admittedly, Kingsley fought tooth and nail to get him clean from. But, the pause – the momentary _stop –_ was enough to get him to glance at the drink, heave a sigh and slide the bottle and glass over to her.

She visibly relaxed then, taking the drink for herself. No good alcohol wasted, after all. Stashing the bottle back away behind the bar, she gestured for him to follow so that they could deal with more pressing matters. Like a dog with a tail between it's legs, Bradford followed, melancholia permeating him like a dark cloud.

Kingsley lead them to the Quarters, where he noticed, primarily, her uneven gait. She really shouldn't be up and about, but after the shitshow that was him commanding that mission, it seemed his position as temporary Commander was going to be revoked. A job that he never wanted to be thrust in the first place, no matter the circumstance.

She naturally went for a cigarette first, much to his chagrin. The smoke filled the room with a familiar haze that seemed to follow her. She didn't move to sit behind her desk, rather recline at the front of it, cigarette lazily hanging from two fingers and a stony mask chiselled onto the features of her face.

"I don't need you to be the person that says ' _I told you so_ ' about having you command." she prefaced. "And I'm not going to chew you out like our old superiors for doing your best. Even I wouldn't have accounted for the Chosen Hunter showing up on the mission, John. It was merely an opportunity for ADVENT and bad luck on our part."

"Bad luck?" he dryly reiterated, nonplus. " _Bad luck?_ Dorothy, you don't believe in _luck_ in a war, so don't bullshit me just to make me feel better. It was horrendous planning. I didn't consider all the facts, like you would've done. I deserve to get – "

"Frankly, I don't give a shit about what you think you deserve to get, Central Officer." Her tone and use of title snapped him straight into obedience, holding himself upright like the soldier he was.

"I've made my decision. You made a mistake and ultimately, it was my responsibility by enforcing you to act as _pro tempore._ We can either wallow in our pity and sadness about it or we look ahead and move on for future plans. Ones that I actually have, courtesy of our Informant."

Bradford's posture slackened a little, but took her words onboard. Playing the role of administrator was something he was more familiar with and the information came easy. " – Another critical mission? I'm not so sure we can embark on anything until our soldiers are at least recovered. Not only that, but rescuing Shen should be our highest priority."

"Debrief me. What is our current status?"

"Sergeant Kelly is currently undergoing surgery to remove an infected arm. The recovery of which and the prosthetic made from scratch will likely put her out of commission for a month, maybe more depending on the Doc's muscle therapy. Speaking of, the Doc herself is wounded, though she should recover within the week. ATLAS – that is, what we retrieved from the Towers – requires repairs. No Shen, no repairs."

He pauses for breath, allowing Kingsley to interject if she so wished. She did, with a simple; " – Shen is a smart woman. She'd have kept some sort of blueprints or backups on that GREMLIN of hers. Get Miles to look at them. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to work on a robot."

"Yeah, thing is, Shen also _smartly_ decided to lock Julian – a psychopathic AI – into ROV-R. If that kid messes around too much and gets too curious, he could unleash him into the Avenger. I don't know about you, but I don't think we could withstand a cyber attack without Lily."

Kingsley pinched the bridge of her nose. " – Then get Dawn to supervise him. She does her GREMLIN's repairs, she must know how some of it works. What else?"

"Dragunova is suffering from a few minor bruises, Mox and Clacher seem to be relatively unharmed, if exhausted. Sergeant Webnar should also be available to be deployed within the week, so the latest we could cobble together a full squad is by the end of it. Feng and Hecate are also available for a mission."

Kingsley took a long, thoughtful drag from her cigarette. She knew her point of view wasn't going to sit well on Bradford when she suggested it, especially seeing as he felt personally responsible for Lily getting captured. But, she was a Commander and she would have to put her foot down with her old friend one way or another.

"We have no information on Lily's whereabouts. I won't commit resources into either expedition until further in the week when new developments arise, but until we get some idea or clue of where she may be held, I want to focus my efforts on the critical mission sent in by the Informant."

Kingsley ignored the way Bradford's gaze hardened. Bordering on a disappointed glare. " – I'll contact Volk to sic his wolves, see if there's any trace of her. In the meantime, we've gained some insight into the alien's plans. Something called.. the Avatar Project. The Informant sent co-ordinates to several off-shoot facilities that may contribute to this project, but there's one in particular that seems to be named in their files. At least, what I can read of it, anyway."

At his obedient silence, she added; " – The Forge. I can only imagine that this has to be some sort of production facility … and not entirely for guns, if we consider what we recovered from the Blacksite. Has the Shadow Chamber finished it's analysis, yet?"

"Not yet." he informed. "Shen believes they're missing a key component before they can really start to crack into these alien systems and the contents of the vial. That's why she locked Julian up in her GREMLIN. I think she was going to remove the whole, _murderous_ part of him and stick him in the chamber."

"Can our engineers still do that?"

He shook his head lightly. " – It's an inadvisable risk, Commander. We _**need**_ Shen."

Kingsley nodded slowly, both in agreement and understanding. It wasn't that she didn't want to embark on a quest to retrieve her from ADVENT's clutches, it was merely that she couldn't operate without knowing all the information. A mistake like the one Bradford made, however impossible to predict, could be turning point to fully finish XCOM for good. But.. Kingsley was feeling a spectre of something she hadn't in a very long time, not since her youth. Hope. For once, they may very well have first strike on this facility that was off the beaten path, especially if ADVENT or the Chosen were predicting her to rush gun's blazing into rescuing Lily.

Satisfied with the current projections and the way going forward clear to her, she raised her gaze back up to the unconvinced Bradford standing at attention. Kingsley offered a quick, raw smile, before it was gone just as fast.

"Don't lose hope, Bradford. Lily is tough. I know every second that passes is one that could determine her fate, but she's a survivor. I think, no, I **_know_** , she can outsmart the Hunter at his own twisted game." She pauses. " – Now. Get Miles to work on ATLAS. I want him operable by the end of the week for deployment. And get him to check ROV-R with strict instruction to leave the AI. I'm sure Shen must have programmed… something in an event like this."

"Yes, Commander."


	44. Pieces

An infinite amount of possibilities stretched out before the Chosen Warlock, like thousands of crossroads and split paths branching from one cosmic tree. The roots of the universe's choices spread beneath them, sediment in the past, immovable. With each day he implored the vast nothingness of the Void for answers, for truth, the whispering voices returned back to him the same response.

The Void awaited them all. Soon, the tangible world as they knew it would be consumed; devoured by a force much hungrier than the Elders had spite. He implored the voices that be, those that spoke in riddles far more intricate than his masters could ever weave, for a better truth. He pitched scenarios, differences that could occur. Begged them to consider the impulsiveness of humanity and it's infantile fickleness.

But, they repeated themselves. Assured him that a genesis far darker than his masters had planned was over the horizon for Earth. Dhag-Il wondered – were all their plans for naught? Were the Elders chasing to cure a symptom than to address their disease? This, the voices did not offer him wisdom or guidance, for it was not their place to.

Slumping partially back once the deep, meditative trance slowly peeled the unreality around him to something more sane, Dhag-Il was no closer to coming to terms with the inevitability than he was the first he learned of it. Whereas his faith had ignorantly blinded him, providing him comfort through fallacies, he was beginning to find himself.. questioning. Which, in turn, cast a shadow of doubt of any previous assertions or assurances.

Adamant, he was, that the Elders were faultless. But his epiphany standing on the hill of the razed haven haunted him – his masters grew.. desperate, if he could urge himself to believe it. Showing their hand too early with the Avatar was a risk that he was neglected to be told was rewarding. Would it not be only a matter of time before XCOM put together the pieces, to understand that creature's purpose?

The Warlock raised a gauntleted hand, delicately nursing his temples as the psionic feedback from the trance introduced itself, searing his mind like a nagging, low flame. It intensified for a brief moment, causing him to stall, before petering out into a dull migraine that stubbornly remained. Such was but one of the prices he had to pay for the expanse of power at his disposal. Nothing was without cost, or sacrifice.

It was his duty as the Elders' most faithful champion to remain unquestioning, no matter what was revealed. As every day that passes was a step closer to their plans being completed, it would not be long now until they could draw back the curtain and end the charade. Until then, he would have to remain staunch.

Banishing such shadowy, doubting thoughts out of mind, there was little peace he could have in his solitary moment when he felt the twin signatures of his right and left hand Priests submissively request at his own. He accepted it, and within moments, the two aforementioned servants entered his sacred meditation chamber, both of them lowering in unison.

"Speak." he permitted.

Gabriel lifted her head up once she was allowed, though her sister remained meekly bowing to him. Her voice, much to the Warlock's surprise, had a ghost of tenseness in it's usually pleasant tenor. " – The Chosen Hunter is en-route to this stronghold, my Chosen. He comes alone, but forgive me in that I am.. worried, as to the nature of his visit."

"You have picked up Dhag-Mai's _psionic signature_?" Dhag-Il questioned, his surprise public. That was something that not even he was capable of doing and rightfully, doubted that his underlings possessed the capacity to.

Uriel spoke next, confirming his suspicions; " – As much as we would like to take credit of finding it, master; he is broadcasting it quite plainly. Even heretical Templar scum could detect his presence with how.. _loud_ he is being."

"He is.. confident." Gabriel added, furrowed brows hidden behind her bishop-like helmet. " _Overly_ so. Under your command, we should fortify our defenses in the event that he intends harm. Perhaps you would like us to deny him, or to fabricate that you are elsewhere?"

Dhag-Il contemplated for a moment why his brother would so brazenly seek audience. Enough that he would be announcing himself as proudly as he was doing. There was one reason as to why, but he believed that Jax-Mon would be the courier, not Dhag-Mai himself.

Which meant one thing. A _thing_ that made the Warlock scoff a quiet chuckle, much to his Priests' confusion. The Hunter, for all he touted about being the chess-master was as predictable as those rulebooks he conformed to. His tenseness evaporated with knowingly smug pride filling in it's stead.

"Gabriel, Uriel." he admonished lightly, prompting the two to lower their heads respectfully. " – I am most surprised by the dissent that falls from your lips. My brother, no matter my own differences with him, is still one of your Chosen. We would not wish him to feel unwelcome in his elder's sanctuary, now would we?"

"Of course not, my Chosen." whispered Gabriel. "Forgive us for our reproach towards your sibling. We will gladly take atonement for such gossip…"

She trailed off as Dhag-Il merely dismissed the rest of her speech, assuring her with a calm, if faked exhausted murmur; " – I will overlook you and your sister's words this time. But I may not be so lenient the next. Now, we must prepare to open our arms and accept my sibling's visit for what it is worth. I am sure he brings nothing but good tidings."

"As you will, my Chosen."

* * *

When the Hunter arrived, strolling through the front doors of Dhag-Il's stronghold like he owned the place himself, he was sure to let everyone know that he was here. A content grin sat smug on his face, pride rolling off of him in waves, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He almost thought about turning up unarmed to really drive the point, but, his paranoia refused him to go that far.

He cast his gaze around, clicking his tongue up on the roof of his mouth in disappointment at his brother's abode. It hadn't deviated from the standard blueprints – practically a mirror match to Jax-Mon's little hovel – but he noted the banners bearing his sigils, the braziers of psionic purple flame lighting the way. Dogmatic rituals could be heard faintly from the overabundance of Priests and gilded icons were grafted into the metal work, depicting their 'holy' masters.

It was sickening to him, to view such false faith. To walk the not-so sacred halls of hypocritical ideology. But, for once, Dhag-Mai was not here to insult Dhag-Il's forced lexis of pontificate nor the mantle that he was made to bear. A much more simpler exchange was all that he required, but if he was to be tempted to deride him, well – the Hunter was hardly going to stop himself.

He traced the strongest psionic signature within the stronghold, pleased that Dhag-Il was not hiding out in the other dimension, cowering at his sarcophagus. He made sure that he would be expected – and for once he was not met with resistance. That in of itself did raise an eyebrow from the Hunter, but he dismissed it as a minute detail.

Dhag-Mai passed through the antechamber, and he would have been content to ignore the two Priests stationed there, had he not sensed a fleeting moment of tenseness that seized them both. He glanced to the closest one, whom had her head bowed in reverence.

"Hm." His grin broadened a little, even as his eyes thinned, pouncing on the smallest slight. " – You two are different. Favourites of Dhag-Il's? That's _unfortunate_. He'll toss you out for the next batch of newer things to play around with sooner or later."

"Our master has no favourite, my Chosen." Gabriel murmured evenly, monotone gentle and utterly devoid of the impish, devious nature the two sister Priests were known for. "My sister and I are no different to any under his command. If he wishes to be rid of us, we will respect that wish."

"Now _that's_ a lie if I ever heard one. Isn't lying a ' _sin_ '? I learned that the Templars flagellate as a means of self-punishing their sins." He paused, raising a hand to rub at the non-existent stubble on his chin before flashing a sharp-toothed grin. " – Considering the Templars lift practices directly from my brother, I wonder what that says about him and what he'd do to _you_."

"Our Chosen would _never_ order us to perform such a repugnant act as penance. The Templars are a scourge to everything our greater masters have declared as holy. They seek to find ways to pervert our context and practices." Uriel contested, unable to stop the waver of horror flooding into her soft voice.

Dhag-Mai's gaze slid over to the younger of the two, silencing her in an instant with one, cutting look. " – Passionately spoken. Didn't think that was a quality in the standardized ADVENT Priest unit. Perhaps I should be taking a closer look at our production moulds."

"Or perhaps you should stop antagonizing my cardinals, brother?"

Lazily, the Hunter glanced away from Uriel to the disapproving face of his elder. His smile hadn't wavered in the slightest – in fact, his presence bolstered it. Dhag-Il held one of the great doors open, his head high and his armour fully equipped; despite the chamber inside built for meditative reasons. The cardinals themselves murmured equal respect, showing it through the lowered cant of their head.

"What fun would there be if I didn't offer them an uncomfortable amount of scrutiny every time I visit? Besides, you know me, brother. I tease _rough_." Dhag-Mai invited himself inside the inner sanctum, sparing no further attention to the two Priests. Dhag-Il closed his eyes briefly, exhaled, and shut the door behind them as he returned to his main mat.

Or, he would have done, had the Hunter not took it upon himself to lay on it, reclining casually with his cheek propped on the palm of his hand. A new sort of headache loomed for the Warlock, one that had a name and was grinning right back at him.

"You certainly have made it a habit to include your life into mine when you made it a point to be independent from your duties, daresay, even from our masters at a time." he comments. It would be pointless to ask the Hunter to move, so he simply called upon his psionics. His dominant hand glowed a furious mix of magenta rose, a similar colour amalgamating around Dhag-Mai's ankle.

Before the Hunter could quip or rebuke, he was yanked off from the mat and deposited onto the lower podium, allowing Dhag-Il to return to his place. His brother pouted, though made no fuss about being psionically tossed like a rag doll, merely laid on his front, being far too casual for the Warlock's liking.

"I was close-minded. Our dearest, adorable little sister has opened my eyes to the true potential of siblings." he added a wistful sigh at the end of that, one that Dhag-Il rolled eyes at.

" – To exploit, no doubt."

"You're one to talk, brother. But, hypocrisy has always been your gospel."

At the Warlock's black glare, the Hunter had the good sense to splay his hands in a peaceful gesture, showing no real intent to harm. He straightened up a little on the mat, getting to the reason why he had deigned to visit.

"As much as I'd love to continue ribbing you into the next dimension, I'm here to pick up the batteries, for the heavy artillery." Dhag-Mai squinted a little as his elder did not seem too surprised at that. If anything, he nodded slowly and cast his attention elsewhere. His bravado simmered back and caution arose.

"I was under the impression that Jax-Mon was to pick them up." he innocuously mentioned. When the Hunter made no immediate response, Dhag-Il happily latched onto that, throwing an implicating look.

" – She is aware that you are doing this, no? Does she even know how much progress you've made on _**her**_ project?"

"Is this your attempt at regaining a sense of moral superiority over us, of all things?" the Hunter rebuked, trying to dismiss it with his impudence to hide his minor annoyance. "Unfortunately for my sister, she simply has not been around long enough to know how to play this game of life. I've drew a better hand and she, nor _you_ , even realize what I have in my possession."

"Careful, brother. Celebrating premature triumph over her or even me sets yourself up to a dizzying fall later on." warned Dhag-Il. "Jax-Mon intends to have us **united** with this project."

"What are you, her spokesperson? In any case, it's not even a problem. She's too busy running around playing errand girl for ADVENT. By the time she checks up on the project based on her own predictions of how long it'd take, it'll be too late." He squinted at his elder.

"You haven't forgotten our plan, have you? There is no future where Jax-Mon is apart of it. Don't tell me you're actually starting to feel – "

"Don't be ridiculous." Dhag-Il smoothly interrupted. "You have a perpetual habit of being so wrapped up within yourself and your plans that you fail to see the bigger picture within the one you're obsessed over. An inheritance from our dear Commander, but a bad one, nonetheless."

" _Careful, brother,_ " the Hunter mocked, though there was a notable edge in his tone. "Don't try to psychoanalyze me. You might not like the results."

Dhag-Il eyed him warily, but ultimately dropped the line of thought to gesture outwardly. " – You'll find the batteries within the third storage chamber. If you require any assistance transporting them, my captain and her MECs are on standby."

"Pleasure working with you, as always." Dhag-Mai lied easily, hopping to a squat before easing himself to stand. He had no intention of lingering any longer than he had to in his sibling's company. He got so far as the door before he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"I trust in your compliance, brother. If I find out you've been going behind my back, I'll have to stop playing around."

"And I don't appreciate your baseless threats, Dhag-Mai. You are not the only one gifted with legendary patience, but you'll find that mine is rapidly waning."

Knowing when not to push his luck, the Hunter gave a grand bow at his departure, satisfied with the meeting and the acquisition of the batteries. The Warlock waited until he had left the chamber and antechamber fully before allowing a frown to grace his face. One of the Priests outside, Gabriel, slipped in quietly, gaze cast to the ground.

"What are your orders, master?"

"Request that my sister visit me as soon as she is able to." he commanded. " – And ensure that the Hunter is safely out of this sacred temple before doing so."

"Yes, my Chosen."

* * *

" – I can't imagine a worse fate that being a prisoner of the Hunter's. I'll send two of my best trackers on the job, Commander. The only reason they wouldn't be able to find the Chief is if she isn't even on Earth any longer. Somehow, I doubt that, though."

"I admire your confidence, Volk. Thank you." Kingsley nodded gently in his direction, before her gaze shifted ever so slightly to the centre of the screen. " – Betos, I understand that some of your camps have been struck?"

"More than that, I'm afraid." she gravely explained. " – The Chosen Assassin has taken it upon herself to remind us of our overconfidence. Several outposts, including medical camps have been razed, with her insignia left as a brutal warning. I understand that we ask much of XCOM.."

She ignored the telltale mocking chuff from the person to the right of the joint video conference, continuing steadfastly with; " … but our supplies and our forces are being strangulated by her efforts. I cannot determine if she plans to attack our base of operations, but the risk is great enough that I should consider withdrawing my men inward."

"That would leave several havens unprotected." the Commander grimly pointed out. "I can talk it over with my XO, see if we have supplies to spare. I apologize that we were absent when the attacks occurred. You have my deepest sympathies for your fallen comrades."

"Wasting your time and effort on the traitorous abominations, Commander? I should be more surprised, and yet.."

The voice belonged to one of the Templars. Not Geist himself; but a man whom Kingsley could only assume was the nebulous 'second in command,' known as the High Inquisitor. Thick, linen robes was present on what could be seen of him, with his face obscured in the shadow cast by the poor lighting and his hood. The camera managed to catch the faint glow of runes emblazoned in alien tongue sprawling down his tabard, though the meaning of which was lost on her.

"Inquisitor Johann." she kept her tone curt, but not unkind. "If you have nothing constructive to add to our stratagem, then remain your namesake of a silent monk."

The man, Johann as he had introduced himself at the beginning and remained silent thusly, sneered a black scowl that was unfitting of a supposed pious soul. He gestured grandly with his left hand; allowing Kingsley to catch a fleeting glimpse of it wrapped in satin and with a noticeable _absence_ of his ring and pinkie finger.

"Merely offering my observations that your organization, starved of resources yourself, are still willing to part what little morsels you have to the enemy. I understand the Holy Father's decision for the Templars not to stand with you and I see no signs of improvement for this evaluation."

"Maybe if your 'holy father' would pull his head out of his own ass he'll see the bigger picture?" Volk suggested, flashing his teeth in a bared, acerbic grin. "If even the Reapers stand with the Skirmishers, at this point; the Templars are just being cowards."

"How dare you." hissed Johann, the video feed of him distorting before snapping back into a fixed position. "Commander, won't you muzzle your _**dog**_?"

"What the _fuck_ did you just call me?"

"Volk. Johann." Kingsley exasperatedly warned, half-glad that it was over video as no doubt, were they present in the room, the Reaper patriarch would have gone for the bishop's throat. "Let's not give the aliens the upper hand by infighting over our differences. If you've nothing further to add, leave."

"Very well." the Templar representative huffed. "I will be reporting this slight to the Prophet himself. I would not be getting your hopes up for Templar aid, Commander Kingsley, if you continue to prove yourself lacking judgement."

"Perhaps the Templars themselves should be re-evaluating internally if they continue to withhold assistance." Betos quietly spoke up after the flames died, as always carrying herself with an air of steel.

"There may not be a world for them to return to when the dust of war settles."

Johann pursed his lips, but made no further comment, exiting out of the call and leaving the three. Kingsley's shoulders slumped a little, appearances forcing her to remain perfectly still no matter how much she wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose. Volk spat something in his native tongue, before reaching for the camera himself.

" – I'll get to work on finding your Chief and at this rate? I hope Geist chokes on his own indecisiveness and bullshit rules. Volk out."

"Betos out."

Now Kingsley freely collapsed back in her chair, hands briefly finding their way to her face and a long, drawn-out groan escaping her. _Like children, they were._ Reaching for her shot glass, she tipped it to her lips only to scoff annoyed as it was empty. With no vice in sight for her to cling to, she settled to briefly nurse her head and grimace at the returning, alcohol-addled headache.

Alas, life moved on and she couldn't spare even a minute to herself. She shut off the communications terminal within her Quarters and headed towards the elevator, with the Workshop set in her mind as her next step in her plan of action.

* * *

Eerily sombre did not come close to describing the mood that the Workshop suffocated in with it's Chief Engineer absent. The industrial groans of the alien systems at work and the hiss of the blowtorch deeper in did little to clear the air. Kingsley collected a pair of nearby safety goggles and reflective vest, progressing as far as regulations would allow and stopping patiently behind the marked bar.

By the end of the week, ATLAS had been repaired, though it seemed as though Miles – the boy genius hoisted behind him – was touching up some of the finer points in the SPARK's joint. He didn't stop to greet the Commander, not until ATLAS made a point of welcoming her.

" – Ah, Commander Kingsley! I must offer my apologies first and foremost, though I know it is not you who should be receiving them.." He gave a digitized sigh. " – I promised, nay, I was BUILT to protect Lily and I have.. failed in that duty. I will understand if you wish to send me to the scrap heap. I know I would if I were in your shoes."

"I wouldn't waste resources patching you up just to melt you down, ATLAS." she reassured. The sound of her voice prompted Miles to peek out from behind the robot, pointing the blowtorch away before switching off the gas and the pilot light, lifting up the wielder's mask and offering a toothy grin.

"Cap'n." he greeted cheerily. "ATLAS here is all fixed up and ready to kick some alien ass! I also did as Bradford asked and took a look at ROV-R. Poor thing.."

Miles slipped from his harness, landing with a grunt. But, he put that aside to gesture towards the aforementioned GREMLIN. Without Lily, it simply sat; beeping every now and then and somehow managing to look _sad_ despite Kingsley not one to personify such things. He expanded, without her needing to prompt.

" – Kept myself away from that giant quarantine zone, let me tell you. That is quite a major virus. Not sure why she hasn't purged it yet, but, if you say it's off limits.." He shrugs. "… In any case, I couldn't find anything of use. He's trying his best to try and give co-ordinates, but.."

"But?" Kingsley pressed.

" – It's all just random! I started writing it down, and so far we've got places from the New Arctic to what was once Egypt." Miles frowned a little, glancing up to Kingsley. "I'm sorry I wasn't much help in that regard. I'll keep noting them."

"It's a start." she affirmed. " – ATLAS, with me."

The footfalls of the heavy robot signified that he was following her as she turned and ascended up the stairs and towards the war room. As much as Kingsley hated a blind mission, the significance that the aliens put in the facility – the 'Forge' – was too great to ignore. It's destruction would no doubt slow down their plans, even if they do not learn more of it.

Gathered soldiers snapped into brisk salutes as Kingsley entered and joined Bradford at the centre. ATLAS took his place at the end of the assembled row as the Commander's gaze drifted from either of them. The only one missing was Doctor Lovett, who was understandably required in the infirmary.

Kingsley clasped her hands behind her back and addressed those under her command.

"You've probably heard this preface many times regarding our critical missions. Going in hot, with minimal intel and expecting high resistance and retaliation from the enemy. I'm afraid that this one is no different. We do not know much about this facility, nicknamed 'The Forge', other than it is crucial to the alien's plans. Our mission is simple." she paused.

"We go in, we dismantle their operations and destroy the facility. Any information you come across pertaining to their Avatar Project should be secured for further analysis back at the Avenger. Now, unlike those previous missions, the aliens are not expecting us to assault this facility. We have the advantage. That does not mean we can be arrogant, however. We do not know what they have stationed there as their line of defence."

Her gaze lands on Sergeant – now a Lieutenant for his bravery against the psionic, human-like creature – Webnar. His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, indicative of a smile, though it was hidden beneath his bandanna.

"As Sergeant Kelly is out of commission, Lieutenant Webnar will be leading the squad. I want ATLAS, Dragunova, Feng, Hecate and Mox to assist you." With the squad chosen, the aforementioned soldiers moved to gather their gear and dutifully head onboard the Skyranger. Kingsley patiently watched, with her XO beside her gently squeezing her upper arm.

"Glad to have you back, Commander." he murmured quiet enough for her ears only. She spared a soft chuckle, focus entirely on her soldiers.

" – Godspeed, Menace. Establish communications back at base when you've dropped into the AO."


	45. Sport

The time Jax-Mon spent scoping out the potential moles within ADVENT made her discoveries a lot more believable. Although Ishmael had been disappointed that the man they were after was not the one him and his sister strongly suspected, he was satisfied in her due diligence. Less so of the mess she'd made when she presented the decapitated head of a random human official to him. But, it was a powerful statement, and her ire was known.

As free as she was to pursue her own goals now, namely, the protection of the ADVENT Forge, she continued to be in denial with what she learned from those files pertaining to the Avatar Project. The monotony and vestigial emptiness of her duty offered her no familiar comforts when the weight of such information settled in her mind, constantly bringing it to the forefront of thought.

Jax-Mon considered praying to her Elders. Specifically; Mother, her creator. For it was She that wrote the files and She whom could clarify them. Perhaps the Assassin had merely – misinterpret Her words? The Elders were, after all, vast and incomprehensible. To claim that she understood the plain texts and it's meanings was disrespectful at best and insulting at worst.

It sounded like a flimsy excuse and defence. What was there to misunderstand? The Chosen were tools, extensions of Their will, and tools, like machine and organic life, had an expiration date. She should be content in her existence for what it was worth, lest she bloat her importance to Them.

Yet for all the death she had reaped at the Elders behest, for all Their love and praise she bathed herself in, it was difficult for her to grasp death of herself. It lost it's meaning when her body had been ruptured and scattered across the derelict Blacksite and she returned anew; fresh and breathing. If the Elders were so powerful and claimed they loved them so much, enough to see them as their children; why were _They_ content with this fate?

Not a hint of remorse, not a woe or a sidetracked trip of sorrow. It was presented in the file as cold, hard fact. They spoke of the Chosen as they would of the Network. Of a plasma rifle or a weapon. They would be more than happy to be rid of them once their duty was fulfilled. Well, except the winner of the asinine competition, who would be risen to something greater.

Perhaps, more accurately, risen to something of _worth_ to Them. A being, not a _**thing**_.

Jax-Mon exhaled softly as a distant psionic signature pressed against her own in request. She was more than happy for the distraction away from her torturous thoughts and greedily snatched it. She recognized it as an ADVEN Priest's – Gabriel, if she was not mistaken – summoning her. The Assassin's lip curled. The nerve of such a presumptuous request! But, no doubt it was on the behalf of her brother, the elder.

She gathered her wits and her strength, realigning her focus away from the musings of her mind and answered the call, teleporting directly to Dhag-Il's stronghold.

Unlike their mutual sibling, Jax-Mon made it a point to ignore the Priests that had beckoned her, storming to the meditation chamber with the residual psi-energy still wreathing her person. Like water on a windowpane, it slid off her, as did her signature shroud.

Gabriel's mouth opened to protest her simply entering the chamber without Dhag-Il admitting her, but the stray thought was enough for the Assassin to pick it up and shoot her a silencing look. The Priest swallowed thickly – Jax-Mon held herself far differently to the little girl that submissively simpered to what the Priest considered her betters. An edge of untold fury borne of denial permeated the surface of the Chosen's thoughts. She and her sister both wisely remained docile.

"I am not a dog you can summon on a whim, brother." she announced as she entered, stopping short of the foremost meditation mat and setting her scowling gaze upon her eldest sibling. A flash of disapproval crossed his face, his hands raised in paused, welcoming gesture, before they slowly lowered.

"Now, sister." he admonished with a click of his tongue. "I do not appreciate you taking that tone with me. Especially given the nature of what I wish to speak to you about."

The Assassin's scowl softened, though she did not take his offer of sitting on the mat, making it abundantly clear that she was not here on a social visit, or intended to remain. Her suspicions were already raised when Dhag-Il did not seem to care for her attitude and moreso when he began to explain himself.

"The psionic batteries that you tasked me with, you were meant to collect them..?"

Jax-Mon blinked, her annoyance vanishing for the moment. " – In that case, forgive my presumption. Yes, if they are ready, then I will transport them to Dhag-Mai's stronghold."

Dhag-Il slowly nodded, throwing her a pitying glance that made the meld-infused blood in her veins burn, itching to ignite her temper. Already, she planned to steel herself for the news that she anticipated would come, yet somehow, some reason, she always believed differently. That her brother would continue to scheme and connive behind her back.

"I'm afraid that Dhag-Mai already took the liberty of ferrying them away. I called you here because I felt that he has not been entirely forthcoming with his work on _**our**_ project. It pains me, truly, to be the bearer of bad news. But alas, the Hunter is a creature of habit.." He didn't sound even the slightest bit put off. The Warlock knew how to hold himself well, but Jax-Mon held no doubts that he revelled in the ongoing betrayal. He, after all, was a creature of cruelty.

Still, she relaxed her guard enough that she let him bear witness to her pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, fighting back the sting with practised ease.

" – Of course he has." she muttered. "I suppose I did not expect anything less from him. I thought, perhaps.."

Jax-Mon shakes her head, much to Dhag-Il's curiosity. She dropped that line of thought, lest she actually shed more of the emotional armour she encased herself in to allow her eldest to see her vulnerability. Squaring her shoulders, she meets his gaze levelly.

"Regardless of his plot, he is still the best engineer we have available to us. Wrestling the cannon out of his stronghold now, without a fight potentially breaking out or even damaging the weaponry is.. simply impossible." She pursed her lips. She may have been wary of Dhag-Il's duplicity, but he had stuck to his word and informed her.

"… Thank you for tipping me off. I believe my presence in his stronghold will deter his plans until judgement day." A pause; a tense moment of silence captures her, enough that the Warlock's brows twitch in concern. " – If he refuses to co-operate with us and threaten the unity I plan to put forth to our masters on that day, I expect you know which side to back, brother."

"Of course," he rumbled. "I will stand with you, sister. If Dhag-Mai continues to prove himself a thorn to our masters' side, it is our duty as their children to pluck him from their side. He doesn't deserve his position if he plans only our downfall. After all, striking one of us is no less than striking Them."

Jax-Mon hums in non-committal agreement, offering her brother the courtesy of a respectful nod and turning on her heel. She got so far as the chamber's doors until she paused, hand gracing the great handles and gaze cast downwards. Her uneasiness was picked up and preyed on easily by the Warlock, who could sense such dissent in the very signature of her psionic energy.

"Something troubling you, Jax-Mon?"

_Yes_ , her mind urged. The tempest she was drowning in brought on by the Network's files. Gripping the handle, the Assassin slowly closed her eyes, composed herself, and turned to face Dhag-Il's imploring gaze.

" – A small question, if I may?" The hesitation alone rose his brow.

"I'll allow it."

"Are you able to view ' _File 000-002_ ' on the ADVENT Network?"

As the Warlock did not answer immediately and a noticeable glaze seemed to gloss his eyes, he was attempting to look at the aforementioned file himself. But, as he did, he winced openly, blinked a few times and met her gaze with a questioning one of his own, lips drawn to thin frown.

"No, I cannot access these particular files. Why, exactly, do you bring it up?"

Jax-Mon offered a placating smile, which, if anything, only set the Warlock further on edge. "I was curious, as I do not have access to these files as well. I thought it may have been the same case as it was with the Blacksite. But, if our masters have privatised these documents, we can do nothing but respect that."

"Indeed." Dhag-Il replied, distant enough that she picked up on it, though she was quick to make herself scarce before he questioned her any further on the matter. He watched her leave his chambers, his task complete as the next step was to sit back and watch his siblings make continuous mockery of themselves. Perhaps – and hopefully – to the point of divine intervention.

The Elders had no need for siblings that exclusively squabbled.

* * *

XCOM's Skyranger flew in hot, just ten miles before the facility known as The Forge. Unlike the Blacksite, it was nondescript, practically indistinguishable from any off-the-beaten path facility hidden out of public eye. Artillery guns stationed at the side, preventing Firebrand from piloting any closer, but there wasn't a single indicator or presence of life detectable within the compound. No patrol cars, no pavement or road, just a seemingly silent building in the complicit world's blind spot.

The back of the Skyranger opened up, allowing the squad to deploy the ropes and abseil down to the woodland ground. Aside from the twigs and flora crunching underfoot and the roaring of the transport ship overhead, it was mostly silent, like a still breeze.

Lieutenant Webnar, nonetheless, ordered a silent gear check, signing with his hands to keep as quiet as possible. An assortment of quiet clicks and clinks followed, but otherwise, the heavens did not part to smote them. The Commander may have been correct after all: ADVENT wasn't expecting them.

A tense moment passed before he finally reached for his communications device, prompting his squad to do the same. Spurts of static crackled over the line before an audible voice could be heard through the staccato rhythmic noise.

" _Menace one-five?_ "

"Receiving you loud and clear, Central. _"_ Webnar affirmed.

" _Good. Now, keep in mind, we're running without Shen here, so our updates are going to go as fast as I can remember how to work this bloody terminal_." Bradford muttered, starting off with a bleak jest to lighten the stress the soldiers were under with such a crucial mission. " _I've scanned the area_ _and_ _we're detecting three lifeforms about three klicks north of your position. Assume that they are hostile personnel. You've got the advantage of cover, so don't blow it unless you have to."_

"Acknowledged." As much as he wanted to play his role as a phantom and scout ahead, he needed to dial his headstrong approach to something more stealthy. His gaze turned to Elena, offering the Reaper a slight nod. " – Dragunova, can you scout ahead and give us visuals on those three lifeforms?"

Elena rolled back her shoulders, smiling thinly behind her mask. She felt Mox's eyes on her and she briefly touched his upper arm before moving away to sneak on ahead. After the disastrous result on top of the Towers that resulted in Lily's capture, she hadn't forgotten the silver lining moment of him saving her life… nor her confession. She might have put up a front about him placing her before the main objective, but she couldn't deny internally it was nice to have someone to look out for her again. A partner.

Mox, whilst he had been initially confused at her reaction and the context behind the kiss they shared, was entirely willing to learn more about the significance of it. He could only express his feelings in the way he knew how – in the way his alienkind and genetic cousins of the Mutons knew how – and was pleasantly surprised to learn alternatives. It was the first time, in that moment, that he'd actually thought of life beyond the war they were thrust in. A strange thought, for sure, but one he welcomed.

He couldn't help but fondly – and worriedly gaze at her back when her figure became more and more distant. Klaus allowed her a wide breadth of time ahead before signalling his squad to begin advancing. The Skirmisher set aside his concerns – Elena had time and time again proved she was not only a survivor, but a capable warrior and fearless woman. His feelings for her only compelled him to have absolute trust in her abilities.

Klaus raised his fist to halt the squad as the communications channel sputtered back into life, with Dragunova's voice smoothly filling in.

"Three aliens." she responded unhelpfully at first, before clarifying when she was certain. " – Three aliens surrounding what looks like a security outpost. One of them is stationed on the roof, overlooking the area. My best estimation is that it's acting as a sentry. Two on the ground patrolling the area; they look to be – "

A pause.

" – No, they _**are**_ Mutons."

" _Confirmed_ ," Bradford grimly muttered, having visuals on the area through Dragunova's scouting.

" _Proceed with caution, Menace._ "

" _So, this is where the shocktroopers of the alien forces went after the war._ " Kingsley calmly stated, though the edge of frost in her tone was not lost on the moving squad. " _– Retired to guarding facilities that would never reach humanity's eye. Smart move, on the Elders' part. Our generation of war veterans would snap awake at the sight of them._ _But they look… different, somehow?"_

"More human." Surprisingly, it was Hecate whom spoke, apprehension seizing the tenure of her voice as the squad caught up to Elena's position and overlooked the two prowling aliens. Everything, at some point, had been genetically modified to include the miracle DNA that was humanity, it seemed.

The Mutons lacked the bulk their previous iterations had before, with more form fitting armour and, naturally; more advanced tech. Twisted by the Elders' genetic manipulations, their body vaguely conformed to a humanoid shape. No longer did the skin look diseased or withered, but instead smooth and ridged, with a healthy pigmented shade of beige and rose red.

Distinctly was the ritualistic imprints of patterns seemingly grafted – or carved into their forehead and the wicked black claws that adorned the tips of their fingers. Traits that all ADVENT units and Skirmishers alike shared. Mox uneasily shifted, being face to face with his collateral relative set uncomfortable thoughts to his mind. He may have been off the Network for a while now, but even still – there was always that nagging thought, begging him to serve.

"The sentry on the rooftop," the former Priest continued softly to explain, as it seemed her squad had yet to identify them. " – That's an Archon. I.. I don't know what they're doing _**here**_ , of all places. We don't – I mean, ADVENT has never stationed them in facilities. Especially not as a guard!"

Needless to say, the Archon bore quite the different visage to the typical alien. Marble-like metal encased around their organs, chiselled to Grecian perfection and ending at the waist down. Scarab like wings, made of pure gold reached to the heavens, obscuring the science and tech that kept them afloat through the engine on his spine and the small jets representing individual feathers lining the ornate, gilded set.

" _Is.. that what the Elders did to the Floaters?_ " Bradford questioned, mildly impressed that the horrible abomination of man and metal had been streamlined into something visually appealing – purposefully attractive to the human eye.

" _Just because their design got an overhaul_ _it_ _does not change what they are."_ Kingsley commented. _" – Be careful when dealing with them, Menace. The Floaters of before were disgustingly savage creatures, bent on war and cruelty and I daresay these.. 'Archons', retain that. We are nothing but game and sport for them to kill."_

"Aye, Commander." Klaus murmured, his gaze scrutinizing the battlefield before them and forming a plan of action in his mind. He watched the two Mutons finish their round of patrols, stopping at the foot of the building and performing a routine check of their plasma rifles before pushing on begin another circuit. The Archon, paying little attention to his entourage, floated absent-mindedly, his slim claws tapping at his staff impatiently and his head every so often inclining to gaze elsewhere.

"Alright. When those Mutons finish their patrol, ATLAS, toss your BIT and give 'em the standard XCOM greeting." He squinted up at the Archon. "That'll alert the sentry, so Hecate can put him Stasis whilst we deal with the rabble below."

"If I may suggest that you allow me to attempt that before we engage? A panicked or alert mind is far harder to manipulate than one unawares." she requested. Klaus pursed his lips, giving it a think before nodding slowly.

"Wait 'til the Mutons walk away then, as not to get them alarmed."

Hecate retrieved her psionic amplifier from her back, stepping forward and ignoring the disapproving pulse of energy to her right, originating from Feng. She focused on the Archon's signature – which was a faded, mute colour, given he was not Gifted. The Elerium that powered his engine and coursed psionic energy through the fleshy, protected organs however were bright enough to paint a picture of his figure for the Mystic.

She focused on the muddled signature instead, calling upon her own latent energy to shoot forth towards the Archon in an ensnaring bubble. She felt the surface of the creature's mind, sucking a sharp breath of air between her teeth as his frenzied rage hit her far more potently than a backlash of psionic feedback. It seemed it had far more will than Hecate anticipated and refused to allow the oppressive energy to restrict and chain his own.

The fuss that the sentry caused and the biomechanical growl it let loose prompted the two Mutons back to the outpost, their movements erratic and scanning the battlefield for the psionic offender. Klaus swore under his breath, but nonetheless gave the signal for the battle to commence.

"Greet the Reaper for me, you dastardly Aliens!" ATLAS called as he gathered the floating BIT, supercharging it to launch it forward and remotely detonating it once it landed heavily on the ground at the Mutons' feet. An explosion shortly followed, deafening the area and sending woodland debris and dirt in all directions. A dust cloud rose shortly after, but one that was ripped apart by green plasma bolts tearing through the haze.

"Oh dear. By my diagnostics, these Muton fellas appear to be wearing blast-padded armour. Explosives are quite ineffectual against that. If anything, I think we just made them angry." The SPARK stated once his BIT returned to him, marching forward and directing most of his power to shielding and providing Hecate cover as she tried to focus.

"Could've used that diagnostic earlier!" Klaus shouted, slinging his shotgun and diving behind a dune. Most of the squad had dispersed for cover at this point and he raised his gun over the edge to throw in a few potshots into the fray. It was simply too far to charge in with his sword, a problem that Feng was facing as well.

"Well, Lieutenant Webnar, you did not ask!"

Hecate stumbled back, shouting in alarm as the Archon broke free of her attempted Stasis, cringing as the crack of psionic feedback whipped across her mind. Now infuriated, the Archon lost it's desire to play a turret on the rooftop and flew forth, one arm cast in front of him to buffet the wind. The more he closed the distance, expertly dodging and weaving out of gunfire, the more of an opportunity that Feng saw.

Until she finally took it; psi-blades bursting forth from her gauntlets and checking the Archon out of balance with a decisive side-cut. The psionic energy lanced through him, enough to get the jets to halt dead and his clawed hand grasping at his metal chassis. Feng perked a silvery brow, huffing as it seemed whatever metal was used in the forging of their body, it was sterner than steel and tougher than titanium. Perhaps even more durable than the strange alloys the aliens mass-produce and use.

As the smoke cleared and the figures of the Mutons became more distinguishable, Mox leveled his grapnel to one of the two, shooting it forth. The alien's baying howl signaled that it connected and with great strength, he yanked the disorientated, agonized creatures towards him, driving the ripjack into the Muton's skull. Their bones were thicker than a humans and he did nothing more than pierce the leathery skin and thinly draw blood.

The Muton, blinded by rage, swiped his plasma rifle upwards, striking Mox with the stock and knocking his helmet loose and opening him up to a follow-up. The Skirmisher was quick to get his bearings and grapple the rifle, attempting to pry it loose from the alien's fingers and disarm him for execution.

Klaus beat him to the punch, unloading a charge of magnetic shrapnel straight into the Muton's head. His gaze cast out wildly in an attempt to catch out the second Muton whilst Feng kept the Archon busy. Just in time, as he saw the alien activate the plasma grenade and lob it forward towards him and Mox.

"Grenade!" he yelled, throwing himself to the ground to lay as flat as possible, though he needn't bother as ATLAS ran, with much difficulty, up towards the live ordinance and projected a barrier around them both. The explosion was self contained, doing little than shedding a bit of ATLAS' outer armour – which was nothing a quick touch up from the Workshop couldn't fix.

The minute moment of panic, however, granted the Archon the leeway he was after against his skirmish with Feng, overpowering her and swiping her balance off-kilter with the side of his staff. She stumbled and he prepared to drive the curved prong of his staff into her when an accurate shot from Dragunova's rifle pierced through him. He, like the Stun Lancers, ignored the pain, forcing himself to continue with the action, but it was too late. Feng had already recovered and with enough force, sliced the Archon's dominant arm clean off.

She followed up the brutal assault with the jets, grounding the Floater's successor to the dirt floor and stomping directly in the centre of his chest. She loomed over and forced her blade through the metal, gold-plated crown and where the Archon's brain was kept.

His dying throes and screams of anguish severely demoralized the last Muton, but like all of their kind and hybrid alike, they would never surrender. It prepared to fire it's rifle to the target it was most likely to hit, though was stopped short by a bolt of psionic energy that felt as if it pierced his very soul and lit an internal, roaring blaze.

Hecate swallowed thickly, storing the amp away, trying not to let her guilt stop her from continuing the facade that she was entirely devoted to the Skirmishers' and XCOM's cause. As much as she could get away with playing the support or healer – she knew it would only foster suspicion if she continued to be as non-combative as she was. The psionic attack was nothing more than a mental malady, tricking the Muton's brain into thinking he had been hit when he was perfectly healthy.

In any case, the Muton became easy pickings for Dragunova, leaving XCOM relatively unharmed from the fight, sans a minor headache that Hecate sported and the creeping beginnings of mental exhaustion for Feng, having to back enough force into her blades to slice through the Archon's metal.

"Gear check." Klaus ordered, to which they complied to various reloads and mumbled responses.

" _Good work, Menace."_ the Commander praised, her voice filtering in on the comms once she was certain it was safe to do so. _" – Bradford has done another scan of the area and it seems we still may have the advantage of stealth. I dare say that this was executed flawlessly. Continue utilizing your cover. We're detecting unknown activity five klicks on."_

There was a quiet mumble, something strangely like ' _If I may, Commander?'_ and a rumble of agreement from the aforementioned woman before a third voice joined the central channel – Tygan.

" _Captain Mox, I request information on the plasma rifles that the Mutons were using. Are they safe to handle with humans hands? It is imperative to know, for I will not allow science to come to a stop with Chief Engineer Shen's missing presence._ _If we can somehow_ _extract knowledge by reverse engineering them_ _, I may be able to speed our technological progress along._ "

" – They are standard issue plasma rifles mass produced for units ranking above Field Generals and higher. Vipers and Codices are given a lightweight version of the typical design whilst Mutons are fitted with medium-weight rifles. Andromedons are the only unit in this classification that carry heavy-weight rifles, capable of dispensing an acid grenade." recited Mox dutifully.

"They, like all of ADVENT's arsenal, come equipped with gene-locking failsafes to prevent human handling of these weapons in an event they come across such weaponry. Upon recognizing a ninety-nine point nine-nine percent match-rate, the rifle will dispense with a fatal electrical charge, killing it's user. It is known that this failsafe works even long after disuse."

" _I see_." Tygan murmured, disappointed. " _And the Archon's staff?_ "

Mox paused, combing through the knowledge he had, struggling a little where that particular alien was concerned. Hecate cleared her throat and he nodded for her to explain in his stead.

"The Archon's staff is not equipped with the same measures. The likelihood of a human acquiring one is negligible and the materials required to create an Archon means that they are finite and not mass-produced."

" _Good. Please secure the item, I would like to study it once you are all safely onboard._ "

Klaus gestured for the Templar to do so. It would provider her a better means of reach than the conventional auto pistol that admittedly, she had little practice with. Feng reached down, grasping the staff to find it a comfortable weight in the palms of her hands, though she could not reasonably wield it one-handed and swing it recklessly as the Archon had. She lifted a fastening strap across her combat gear and secured the staff to her back.

With that taken care of, Bradford gave them the all clear to proceed, advancing further towards the ominous facility ahead.

* * *

Silent was the Assassin's entrance as she teleported to the Forge. Her movements were imperceptible, so impossible to detect that the turrets mounted on the edge of the roof did not even detect her arrival or her motion afterwards. Her shroud cloaked her from sight as she descended down the stairs to the lower levels, pausing halfway when she noticed human blood streaked across the wall.

Impossible. Had XCOM already arrived?

A quick Network search indicated that the base was not on alert. There was no ADVENT personnel, save for the ones deactivated and gestating in the cloning pods, present in the facility grounds. She brought up a mental map of the area, but no spots indicated any sort of fight had broken loose at all. Jax-Mon slowly reached for her katana, drawing her sword and making her way down the rest of the steps, one at a time.

The source of the blood seemed to have came from a human body sprawled at the foot of the stairs in a broken heap within it's own gore. The once white lab coat was stained patchy crimson and she gingerly turned the body with her sword to face her.

Jax-Mon possessed an iron stomach and a strong will, but even the sight of the mauled face and jagged claw marks on the human's person told a gruesome tale. The scientist was most likely a heavily indoctrinated staff-worker, but evidently _**something**_ had infiltrated the facility. Even the most rowdy alien with a terrible hatred for humanity wouldn't mangle a human as means of punishment – or even execution. What _happened_ here?

Tenaciously entering further, more and more human bodies began to litter the hallway. Cast to the ground like worthless sacks of meat, bloodying the floor with viscera and decomposition. There was even one or two corpses mounted on plasma staves in the corners to send some sort of – ritualistic message lost to her. She recognized such brutality and efficiency, as it almost matched her own.

It was not a clean strike – it was a _slaughter._

Her senses whispered a heightened danger – and she heard soft chatter in an alien dialect once thought forgotten. The scent of human blood almost overwhelmed the faint pungent odor of jet fuel burning, allowing her to deduce what may have caused the massacre before her.

Creeping to the edge of the hallway, she pulled her shroud tighter around her, making sure not to leave even a single boot-print into the layer of blood she stood in when she stared into the wide open reception area where a gathering of Archons flocked around a single entity.

Jax-Mon did not need to consult the Network to know that the red leader was none other than the Archon King. That left the question of the Berserker Queen's location, but also a predicament for her.

Should she allow XCOM to walk in, unsuspecting of the predator that awaited them – or claim the King's death for herself and in turn, her masters?

Feeling the weight of her blade in her hand, Jax-Mon made up her mind.


	46. Imagery

" _Finally_."

Volk exasperatedly exhaled a puff of smoke from his half-smoked cigar, snubbing it on a piece of clay serving as his ashtray. Reaching over towards the terminal, it displayed the information from the Avenger on behalf of the Commander. Co-ordinates, supposedly, to where the Chief Engineer was, extracted from her left behind GREMLIN.

A sour frown touched his lips in an instant his old eyes began scanning the contents of the file, however. Of course, it would be too easy if it was as straight forward as planning the extraction. No, the first task was finding the Hunter's Stronghold, if that was even where she was being kept. The co-ordinates were a variety of locations, ones that plainly did not make any sense to him.

He shouldn't have expected anything less, really. The Hunter was never one to make things simple – and if it was, the simplicity wore a deceptive mask to cover the level of risk and danger. It was why he was inclined to send two of his best trackers on the case – regardless if they ended up unsuccessful, the pair knew how to survive and he couldn't afford to loose even the greenest of recruits right now by sending them on suicide missions.

Transferring the file to a small palm-fitting datapad, Volk pushed away from the makeshift computer set-up to stroll out of his tent.

The Reapers' main base of operations never remained in one place. Him and his ilk were wayfarers, with stationary outposts only being erected to nearby havens to handle their defence. Their constant moving kept them off ADVENT's grid compared to the Skirmisher's more static approach. As such, the base was little more than a handful of tents surrounding a campfire; with supplies being collected as and when they required them. If they needed to up and abandon the site, they wouldn't be losing much.

Especially since the majority of their kept supplies from bigger, more meaningful raids were secured within a black market storage unit. He kept the key with him at all times and the ringleaders of the market knew not to mess with his stock. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he weathered the chill that hit through the several layers of cloth, snow crunching under foot as he moved towards the centre of the camp.

There were a few Reapers stationed there, awaiting deployment to whatever job that Volk needed handling. Among them was Nina, having made herself quite scarce since returning Lieutenant Dawn back to XCOM. She spared her leader a glance, popped the collar of her coat and focused on cleaning the components of her rifle, keeping an ear as she did so.

"Svyatoslav, Peytor, get your asses over here." the Patriarch barked. "Got an important mission for you lazy bastards."

There was some rustling overheard as the frost-covered tree creaked and groaned when a large black figure descended from it by the precarious posts carved into the dead bark. The outline of a camouflaged sniper rifle was present on his back and once his feet touched the snow-laden ground, he strolled towards Volk. He took the liberty of removing his mask when addressing his leader, clipping it to his belt.

Peytor was the bigger of the two, with black hair shaved to his scalp and a great black beard sprawled across the lower half of his face. The features of which, were chiselled like hard rock, topped with thick brows seemingly permanently drawn into an unfriendly scowl. He, like his partner, were apart of the original Reapers, born from the ashes of the haven they survived after it's unceremonious destruction.

Svyatoslav, more commonly known as Sveta by the pups of the faction, had dirty blond hair finely cropped and maintained surprisingly well, considering how rare of a luxury self-care products were for their kind. Although blind in his right eye by a Chryssalid attack some years back, he remained a crack shot and an expert spotter for Peytor. The pair of them, practically inseparable, had been through much together. The prospect of another mission, even one highly dangerous, excited them.

"Important mission, huh?" Peytor questioned, mimicking Volk's stance with his gloved hands stuffed into his trenchcoat's pockets. "Throw us a bone. We're planning on another outpost run. Sanya at the Delta encampment believes they might've spotted something worth for our records."

At that, Sveta tapped the old camcorder strapped to his belt. What distinguished them from the other trackers in the Reaper's roster were their skills of record-keeping and adequately recalling, either through video or memory, where things were. As far as Volk were concerned, if Lily could not be found by them, there was only one, grim explanation.

"Forget Delta. This mission is straight from the Commander's mouth – "

Sveta couldn't help the wolfish grin that split across his face. " – Ah, mama wolf's request? Couldn't say no, Volk?"

He snickered, even as Peytor, the decidedly more responsible of the two, elbowed him in the ribs. Volk himself scoffed, pinning the younger man with a flat, cutting look.

"Yeah, yeah, joke later when you actually do as you're fucking told." he benignly muttered, before his face grew darkly serious. The two caught the expression and Sveta respectfully simmered down as Volk began the debrief. " – This is a rescue mission for their Chief Engineer, Lily Shen. She was captured about a week and three days ago by the Chosen Hunter. We don't have a fix on her location, but her GREMLIN has been receiving strange co-ordinates that I want you to investigate."

Both wolves tensed at the mention of the Reaper's bane. Lucky enough that they themselves had never encountered Dhag-Mai Madron, but they've caught snippets of the tales that Dragunova relayed back to them when she got a quiet moment to communicate with them. He was just as deadly, efficient and unrelenting as the recounts of those that lived to spread his legacy.

In either cases, he was not known for his mercy, which was non-existent. That alone was enough to get Peytor's gaze to soften and to edge the possibility they were all thinking.

"Mean no disrespect, boss, but.. the Hunter's not known for capturing and keeping prisoners alive long enough. You said a week, yeah? Do you really expect her to still be alive?"

"Are you a veteran, or a pup?" Volk spat, and sheepishly, Peytor backed down. "Of course I've considered that she's probably dead right now, but if she is, that's fucking _it_. Revolution's over. As it stands, we're still here, ADVENT hasn't bragged and the Commander's holding out hope. So either ADVENT's being exceptionally slow, or she's alive."

"It's a lot of our time to invest into a fifty-fifty." Sveta added, arms folded. "Not only that, **_if_ ** she is still alive, I'm concerned as to _how_. What's she doing that's keeping the Hunter docile?"

"It's not your job to ask why or how. You find things and I want you to find _her_. Even if it does end up being her corpse." ordered Volk as he handed the small datapad with the set of co-ordinates saved onto them. " – You'll need that. Something isn't right about them, they're all over the map. I trust you'll figure out which one is the correct one."

Peytor rolled back his shoulders, taking the datapad for himself and squinting at the data, before nodding and storing the pad into his knapsack. "Aye, boss. We'll report in the moment we've found something of use."

"Good." Volk's bite softened a little, as did his gaze, before he exhaled a quiet sigh under his breath. " – I'm trusting you two."

He waved them off once they mockingly gave their patriarch a salute of respect, though Peytor was more serious in his action than his partner. The bigger man handed Sveta the set of co-ordinates and the two of them set off south, as one of the many co-ordinates that he spied looked to be in the southern part of the New Arctic.

* * *

What Sveta and Peytor ended up finding, however, was a barren wasteland of snow, ice and regret.

"That's the closest co-ordinate down and it's a fat load of nothing." Peytor ignored his partner's ramblings, humming quietly to himself as he lowered gingerly to a squat, sifting through the fresh blanket of snow with his gloved hand, finding nothing but a thin sheet of icy dirt underneath. Further inspection yielded no results and he was hardly a qualified botanist to tell if the snow-buried plants were of significance.

"Has to be something." he finally responded with a grunt, pulling himself back to his full height. " – It's one thing to scramble a tracker to a different location, another entirely to give ten separate and distinct co-ordinates. Some of 'em I can't even make heads or tails out of it. Like it's been _smudged_ , or something."

"Yeah, it's odd, but it's ADVENT. Pretty sure they've got the tech to do so."

"That's the thing. I don't think it's tech that's doing it." Peytor did not even need to look at Sveta to know the blond male was raising his brow at him. " – D'ya think someone like the Hunter would really let a tracker go off in the first place if he even knew it was happening? That Shen's got a death wish, but as long as he's unaware, we've got legitimate co-ordinates, just, scrambled in a _different_ way."

"Oh, shit. Psionic?" Peytor nodded. Sveta uneasily joined his partner, gloved hands rubbing against each other and keeping the leather close to his face, though it did not do much to stave off the chill. A frown touched his scarred face.

"If that's the case, we've got to sort out what these smudges actually say, somehow. Or maybe just going off longitudes, _somehow_." mused the blond. He grimaced shortly after. " – As if we didn't get enough of that shit chasing a Codex halfway across the fuckin' planet."

"Hey. It was worth it, in the end."

"Yeah? Whited out footage, a near-death experience and things I still have nightmares about?"

Peytor lightly rolled his eyes, muttering something about Sveta's insistence to never let that incident drop. But, the problem did bore an interesting puzzle for the two, with dire consequences should they take too long, or worse: fail. He patted his partner on the back, slowly moving forward.

"Might as well scope the place out whilst we're here. Just to rule this one off the list."

" – We're going to need some starting point of reference. Like a list of facilities under his command, for one. If part of these co-ordinates match up with them, we've got a good start." Sveta halted in his step and the lack of his accompanying footfalls made Peytor stop, too. "Or maybe just places of significance to the Hunter. I bet my lucky pelt that bastard's got a hidey-hole somewhere that he could be keepin' her."

"Where are we going to get that sort of information, Sveta?" Peytor asked. "Can't exactly sniff out the Hunter's tracks when he doesn't leave any."

Sveta made a noise of agreement, before falling into silence. With nothing but the howling wind to go along with his thoughts, he didn't want this mission to end before it really even had a chance to begin. He concentrated – and then grinned doggedly as inspiration struck.

"That power surge that the Network had, remember?" At Peytor's nod, he continued. " – Bet my old service revolver that the Black Market has new information in stock thanks to that. If there has been any chance to nab intel on the Hunter, it'd been during it."

"Worth a shot." the taller man offered a lazy shrug. "If nothing else, it might eliminate some of the co-ordinates to narrow the field of search."

"Be optimistic, my good man." Sveta hit his partner with a bright smile, patting his back as he casually walked on ahead to lead. Peytor threw his gaze briefly to the heavens before following closely, quietly sharing the smile himself as they moved.

* * *

The New Arctic's Black Market wasn't as grandiose as the main storefront the Reapers mostly frequented. The stock was specialized, more focused on provisions for the neighboring havens and contraband in the form of conventional assault rifles, grenades and a pay to use workshop and chemistry sets for the aspiring bomb-maker. Fortunately for the deltas, they needn't go all the way to the Americas just to gather the information they needed.

After a few silent gestures exchanged between the two, they settled to let Sveta do the talking. He swaggered up towards the information broker, leaning casually against the steel countertop. Peytor sidled up beside him, though his hands remained stuffed in his pockets, much to the suspicion of the Market's guards. Their rifles pointed at the floor safely for now, though one of them noticeably rested their hand on the stock in warning.

"Trading or selling?" the broker flatly questioned, barely even looking up at the two men at his station.

"Trading." Sveta began with, his lips twitching a restrained smile when the broker glanced up to see whom was his customers – and promptly offered them his attention. The Reapers had influence and it helped, as Volk said, to be popular with the Resistance. " – We're gathering information on the Hunter."

Sveta didn't like that his request prompted the trader to smirk, his posture easing, almost dismissive. He shared a glance with Peytor, nodding very slightly to his partner. That was a sign that they might need to get creative to extract what they were here for. The taller man grunted, but waited until Sveta began speaking again before slowly edging towards the side of the stall.

"Something funny?"

"The fact you believe you've actually got the resources to buy this information from us." the broker scoffed. "Do you know how long it's taken us to get even the barest scrap? All we've got is that bloody image and I'm convinced that's because he let us take that snap."

"Try us." Sveta bargained. "How much?"

"Not for sale. The Hunter's files are being auctioned next week. If you've got five-hundred thousand supplies, though, I might look the other way and let you have a peek." The man behind the counter snickered at the sight of Sveta paling slightly, his fingers drumming across the steel surface of the counter top. " – Bit out of your price league, Reaper?"

"I'm guessing you're not looking for an exchange, either."

"What's more lucrative than the Hunter's files? We can get information on the Assassin and the Warlock easily." the trader rose his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "So either fork up or fuck off."

"I'm going to go with option three." was all Sveta managed to say before hell broke loose.

Peytor sprung forward after he'd slowly inched his way around the steel stall to grapple the broker, smashing his head straight into the metal top and keeping the man's arms pinned back behind him, utilizing his full weight in pinning the information dealer. By the time the market guards recognized what was happening, Sveta had already drew out his revolver.

Two shots, two hits – right between the eyes of either man. Sveta may have been blinded years prior, but he still retained his skill and training, especially when most of it had become muscle memory for him. The broker squirmed and writhed in Peytor's grasp, to which he stopped by raising his head and once more smashing it against the metal. The brutal assault broke the broker's nose, splattering the clean top crimson in a visceral spray.

The other patrons, unaffiliated with the Market's network kept to themselves – some, pretending they didn't even see anything. Their attack was not the strangest sight that happened within the Market, though once word spread, the Reapers' reputation would be soiled. The deltas would get their task done, however. By any means necessary.

Sveta stored his revolver back into the folds of his coat when none of the other patrons dared to rise against them. He smoothed a hand through his dirt-blond hair, reaching over the counter to retrieve the broker's datapad and access the Hunter's files.

As much as he'd like to sit and read them now, it wouldn't be best to do so in the Market. So, he copied the data to his personal pad, discarding the used one and gesturing for Peytor. The man glanced down, lip curled in disgust before unceremoniously tossing the man aside. He and his partner headed out soon after, leaving their mess in their wake as a warning.

"So..?" Peytor prompted once they exited out of the market and journeyed a safe distance away to stop. Sveta pulled out the datapad, eyeing the files, partly in anticipation, partly in excitement.

"We've struck gold! Ascension files, facility locations, current projects he's working on, it's all – " His face fell the instant the file had finished loading, the joy petering out into disappointment as he flatly finished; " – _corrupted_. It's all corrupted. Some of it isn't even accessible. What a fuckin' grade-A example of Market swindling. Pawning off faulty files to the first idiot that falls for it."

"What?" Peytor yanked the datapad out of his hands, scrolling through each of the files, seeing nothing but jumbled up code. If the Hunter had somehow found a way to mock them through this, the sight of being so close yet so far would certainly be it. Still, he made sure to view every single item, just in case.

He perked back up when he saw some moderate success. " – Ah, this file still works. It looks to be …"

"Statistics." Sveta finished for him as he glanced over his partner's shoulder at the file. "Kills, tasks complete, queries sent.. I don't think I understand what this data even is for."

"Performance management? Ha. Maybe they'd boot him if he under-performed." Peytor hazarded a guess. It'd be beyond them, the inner workings of the Network and the true meaning of the file's purpose. Nevertheless, one particular statistic stood out for him. "Latest kill recorded, ADVENT Captain? It's got co-ordinates. _"_

_S_ veta cross-referenced their set of codes with the one displayed on the file, pointing to the fifth one down. The longitude of it was exact to the displayed co-ordinates, though the latitude seemed, incomprehensible, almost nigh impossible to read thanks to the psionic corruption and masking. It was the odd one out of the bunch; the extra precaution in keeping it obscured that convinced the Reaper they might have had solid confirmation with it.

"That has the same longitude. So, that'd make it –"

"Australia." Peytor confirmed. "Guess we better call in to Volk with our findings. Maybe we can swing a Skyranger over to double check if there's even a facility out in that dead-zone."

* * *

Jax-Mon's plan hinged on a lot of uncertainties and if the Commander was still the tactical database, monitoring her every thought, she'd be boxed around the ears for even thinking of such a hair-brained scheme to handle the King and his cohorts.

But, there was no better opportunity than the one that presented itself. The Network still had outstanding orders to rein in the aliens in hopes of converting them and their influence over their genetic predecessors to the Elders' side. She'd gutted one potential ally for them so she can merely hold her brother's attention for longer than thirty seconds without a lingering threat of death – she wasn't keen to replicate that.

The Archons, having sated their bloodlust on the workers of the facility, offered the chance for her to talk with them and their leader. Or, perhaps more realistically – rile them up into a battle frenzy. She prepared for the high possibility of brawling, but she would like to attempt a more delicate approach.

As they were made to be heralds of the other forces, the Archons were implanted with a sense of importance over all those lesser – as well as being able to understand and recognize their superiors. They were prideful, but not envious. Appealing to that with her image of sainthood may allow her to initiate negotiations.

She tried to ignore the tart taste growing in the back of her throat. She'd outgrown her silly infatuation with the idea of being a saint, given what she knew now of the reality around her. Jax-Mon had begun to foster.. weariness of the imagery. Disgustion, as she once harbored for humanity, for the false symbolism appointing her a higher stature. If she was to be seen as better than most, she would have her skill prove it, not smoke, mirrors and fake titles.

But, it served a purpose and whilst there were still those that believed the image of her being that of the divine, then she must use it to her advantage. Releasing the grip on her katana, Jax-Mon exhaled slowly and peeled back the psionic shroud, making sure such an act was noticeable to the idling Archons.

A mask of perfect elegance captured her face, even as the two closest sentries were alerted to her presence. They swung around, gilded feathers raised like hackles and the prongs of the plasma staff pointing threateningly to her. Yet Jax-Mon spared not a glance for these common guards, keeping her gaze resolutely on the King.

He spoke something in their dead language, something so ancient that not even she knew it's tongue. But, whatever he'd said seemed to have eased the guards to lower their staff safely, drifting just a little to the side to allow her closer towards the King. Jax-Mon moved silently, like the very air carried her steps so that her boots were not soiled by mere mortal ground. She could put on quite an impressive display, even if her heart wasn't entirely in it.

The King said something again and when he was met with silence, he realized the language barrier. The feather-like jets that lined the scarab wings fluttered slightly – and it was strange for her to behold their intricate gestures and body-language for a species that, prior, did not have human-like qualities to display them.

" – You are no goddess of mine and my kind." If the King was unsure of how he enunciated ADVENT's language, he didn't show it, being a picturesque portrait of grace himself. "But you are a goddess among mankind. You approach without bearing arms – the seraphim tell me this is unusual for the Wraithmaiden."

"As much as you would be a worthy opponent to test my skills with, Archon King, I do understand the value of diplomacy." she politely began with, keeping herself cool despite the fact she analyzed each and every twitch of marble muscle. "I come not as an executioner, but as a messenger of Their holy word. They would like to extend an olive branch."

"There is no peace in subjugation." he said simply, succinct. The bluntness made her raise a brow, but she appreciated the direct approach, nonetheless.

"Your kind are already viewed as divine in your own right. You would be given countless fields of battle to test and hone your skills – certainly, this is better than sharpening the blade on flesh that cuts too easily, is it not?" she mused, glancing surreptitiously at one of the mangled, bloodied corpse of a scientist.

His lip twitched imperceptibly, enough that his royal guards adjusted their grip on their staves. Jax-Mon's senses screamed seven kinds of danger, but she held her ground, like a fierce lioness overstepping another's turf.

"What holiness is there in stitching flesh and creating shambling abominations meant only to serve? In knitting the very essence of our soul into a soulless, meat puppets?" The Archon King pointedly stabbed one of the corpses strewn on the floor, forcing it to thunk forward towards Jax-Mon. The Assassin remained silent, allowing the King his piece. " – We have seen what your 'holy' Gods are trying to make, in their 'clean room.' My kind are restless and want no further part in this shadow war against the last vestiges of humanity."

"Your influence is far reaching, but not all encompassing. You'll seldom find many Archons that are willing to part with the offer I had just laid out for you."

He tutted, gesturing lightly to the flock around him. "Is that so, Wraithmaiden? Are these the seldom few? I have yet to even reach out to my brothers forced to pose as your masters' icons of glory. Would you still hold your opinion then?"

Jax-Mon pursed her lips. She was mildly impressed that the King's confidence was unshakable – but then again, she supposed there was a reason why he of all Archons held that title. Nevertheless, time was pressing and she would have to decide once more how to proceed. Or, simply retreat, so that she may retain her advantage.

"If you truly wanted no part in this war, you would not have boldly struck here as you so have!" she scorned. "This sends a clear message that you wish to become our enemies. An unwise decision for the safety of your subjects still currently under our rule – "

The implication was enough to spur anger in the King, with latent electricity sparking through the plates of his wings as his mouth twisting in a snarl. " – You would dare hold them hostage?!"

His anger in turn riled up his kin and once more Jax-Mon felt the pressing urgency of either striking or fading out into the shadows. She chose neither, her only assault being the step forward to confront the King, regardless of the proximity of the plasma staves pointing directly at her.

"No." she told calmly. "But I would not be so foolish as to presume my masters would keep them safe if you make your intentions as clear as you have this day. I no longer speak for them, but as a fellow warrior: choose your battles wisely, King. There are two options for you. Join us, or do not participate any more in this war than you already have."

"You are not my advisor."

" – And this is not up for debate." she sternly chastised. "A squad of soldiers from XCOM has been deployed here to foil my masters' plans in an on-going attempt to destroy this facility. They will not be as kind as to offer an extended hand of good-will towards you, should you choose to remain and be caught in the crossfire."

The Archon King contemplated this for the longest moment. The electricity dissipated as the ire subsided and he waved his men to stand down. They reluctantly complied, withdrawing their weapons to rest neutrally. A tense, silent moment passes, before finally, he inclined his head towards Jax-Mon.

"We will remain. It will not be on your advice that we leave." Stubborn, perhaps, but the King held his ground just as the Assassin did. A ghost of a smile crosses her lips, before it vanishes just as quick.

"Suit yourself, your majesty." With that; her psionics cast out and wrapped around her, enshrouding her away from their sight.


	47. Warrior

Anticipation set in Klaus like thick, sticky honey as he kept his eyes peeled for the signs of activity that Central confirmed was up ahead. Yet, the further Menace squad progressed, the more barren the facility seemed, with not a guard or sentry in sight since they ambushed the pack of roving Mutons and their Archon herald. Dragunova was too silent for the squad lead's liking, reporting every so often to confirm that it was clear.

He expected a plethora of things. Were they walking into a trap? Surely, Dragunova would have spotted it by now and triggered it, if that was the case. Had the intel been incorrect – and what they were raiding were merely the shell of a former facility? It seemed … unlikely, given how confident the Commander had been within her source and the information they received. After another tense moment of waiting for the Reaper's signal, Klaus' brows furrowed and opened the communication channel to her.

"Tell me you've found something – anything, Dragunova."

The comm-line crackled worryingly and for a tense moment, the Reaper did not respond. Klaus' chest tightened as he assumed that she had indeed been caught in some sort of trap, until relief replaced that tension when she coolly responded over the line.

" _I might have discovered why we aren't being met by ADVENT patrolmen and lines of defence for a facility this important_." she pauses. " _– Somebody has got here before us. I see corpses,_ _but …_ _This isn't just a bloodbath, it's a_ statement _. One that I believe is not for us._ "

" _I have visuals on Dragunova – and Lord_ _have mercy_ _, that is_ _ **not**_ _a pretty sight._ " Bradford murmured, enough disgust in his voice that the soldiers could hear his cringe. " _Be cautious, Menace, it seems we're dealing with an unknown assailant. It's too risky to assume that they're going to be friendly just because they struck out against ADVENT. Proceed cautiously._ "

"Aye, sir." Klaus murmured, gesturing for his squad to move up and meet with Dragunova.

The further they advanced, they begun to become acquainted with the same, gruesome vista sprawling the length of the facility's front entrance. What should have been the most fortified and heavily guard was instead stripped to nothing more than an empty courtyard with rent corpses torn with jagged claw marks littering the steel ground. The turrets mounted on the corners of the roof seemed to have been utterly torn off at the turret head, leaving exposed, sparking wiring and machine fluid leaking down the side.

Klaus grimaced darkly beneath his bandanna, glancing aside when he heard the disheartened, shocked gasp of Hecate rise. The former Priest cradled the lower half of her face with her hand, horror seizing the otherwise unnaturally soft features. The amount of low-lit psionic energy pooling around seemingly every inch of the facility ground painted the gory image in her mind's eye where her stolen, blinded vision was unable to. It reminded her starkly of how she found the Paladin Feng in that prison cell, with the walls coated in her blood for her defiance.

"This is the work of Archons." Mox supplied after a tense moment of surveying the bloody scene. He inclined his head slightly towards the torso of an ADVENT Officer impaled on an abandoned plasma staff. It was erected to the heavens like a blasphemous statement to the Gods, which is exactly how he was slowly piecing together the meaning of what was before them.

"– Something or someone has managed to push their frenzy to overcome their forced loyalty. As savage as you regarded them, we were taught that they once held honour. They would not commit such brutal acts of treason and senseless violence without a catalyst."

" _I don't remember the Floaters going after non-combative personnel or civilians either. And certainly not the forces they were working with, forced or not._ " Bradford corroborated with less words. " _What could have driven them to this?_ "

" _Perhaps they, like the Skirmishers, awoken from their haze of subservience_." Kingsley added, musing – and not liking any of the possibilities. " _But,_ **unlike** _the Skirmishers, it seems they've flown into an unquenchable rage. Proceed, Menace. We are still detecting activity."_

Klaus grunted out his acknowledgement, flicking his gaze up to the roof. From what he could spy below, it seemed to be split between the alloy metal and a glass view to the inside of the facility. It would make an excellent vantage point for a sniper.

" – Dragunova, Mox, take the high ground. You'll provide us support from above. ATLAS, Hecate, Feng and I will storm the front entrance when you're in position."

The Reaper gave a short nod, rising from her crouch and slipped out of the security of the shadows to head towards some scaleable pipeline or wall surface of the facility, when Mox, how on her heels, cleared his throat. She spared him a glance, smiling doggedly beneath her mask when he offered his free arm, the one equipped with the ripjack and grapnel raised. She could imagine he was flustered under that full helmet of his, especially when she slipped closer and wrapped an arm around his waist.

His grip was a little more practical, keeping her secured against his broad chest as he launched the grapnel and let the device pull them up to the rooftops. When he was sure their balance was regained, he reluctantly relinquished Elena from his hold. She whispered something in her native tongue to him, off their communications line. As he was disconnected from the Network, he had no hopes of understanding what she said, though her confident swagger afterwards suggested something best ask repeated in private.

She sidled up to the glass roof that Klaus spotted, only to dart quickly away when she caught sight the marble-like metal below. Their forms were simply too large and her view too narrow to get a correct estimate of how many was present, but she relayed the information nonetheless.

"Two, possibly three Archons inside." she told, watching Mox do a sweep of the roof before he took to her opposite side, where she would have a blind spot. He raised two digits and she amended; " – We have visual confirmation on four."

"Anything else?" the squad lead asked, praying she did not actually answer that with more confirmation of hostiles inside.

Elena slipped into a lofty crouch, resting the familiar weight of her Vektor rifle into the palm of her hand, peering through the scope of it. Her mask enhanced her already keen, unnatural eyesight, but being no expert on alien physiology or behaviour, she had little idea what the Archons were even doing other than a sense of tense alertness that had them rattled.

"No additional units …" she trailed off to silence as movement forced her to peer through her scope again, sucking in air through her teeth as another drifted, however brief, into her field of vision. He looked both indistinguishable and ironically alien compared to his brothers; with red like blazing rage for skin and dogmatic gold smelted into grander design.

" – One additional unit. A red bastard. Looks like an Archon, but it's different. Mox?"

Unfortunately, Mox could not provide an answer. The Alien Rulers were a problem that cropped long after he had been disconnected from the Network, meaning he had no access to such drifting, loose memories and files. He gave an apologetic half-shrug. "I have never seen anything like him before."

"A.. red Archon, did you say?" Hecate, on the other hand, once had access to such files – and visibly paled as white as her pristine armour. "Oh.. oh no, that is not good. That – He is the Archon King. We have to abandon this mission, or at least wait until him and his congregation rove elsewhere. It's far too dangerous."

" _I appreciate your concern, Mystic Hecate, but that is not your call to make_." Kingsley lightly interjected. " _Monarchy will not stop our mission. We may never get another chance to take this facility down. Neutralize the threat, Menace._ "

"You don't _**understand**_." she tried again, brows drawn into a fierce glare behind her bishop-like helmet, though her newfound courage quickly simpered away when the Commander's voice bore down upon her.

" _That is an order_."

With Kingsley's pressing, Klaus knew anything else would simply delay the inevitable skirmish. They might as well make use of the first strike advantage whilst it was still theirs. His mouth opened to issue an order; pausing briefly as he sidled a glance towards ATLAS, instead redirecting his order to a question.

"Does that floating bomb of yours come packed with a smoke grenade?"

If ATLAS had a more expressive, human face, he would have been grinning in bemusement. As it stood, the plates just above his visual optics waggled a little in a mock display of thought. " – It's called a BIT, Lieutenant Webnar; and yes, it comes packed with plasma-standard ordinance, one smoke and one stun."

"Good." he nodded slightly. "Smoke the Archons out. We can thin their ranks if they're running out in confusion in disarray."

"Jolly good. My biological scans indicate that the fleshy organs encased in that metal aren't all that healthy anyway. Poor things. Shall I?" At Klaus' signal, the SPARK reached for the floating tool, interfacing with it to select the type of assault he wanted. Once he opened up the smoke valves and the acrid fog began to puff out, he reared his arm back and bowled the BIT through the front of the doors.

Dragunova returned to her vantage point, giving a brief thumbs up when she saw the BIT land within the group of Archons. They seemed – perturbed, at first, until the device activated and choking hazardous smoke began to obscure the vision of the room. Thankfully, her mask was built to see through and filter such fog, allowing to pick out the figures of the aliens below.

Klaus readied his shotgun, finger nuzzling against the trigger as all that remained was awaiting the first target to come stumbling out in the open. Tenseness wound his muscles like taught rope and squinted as the smoke began to pour out from the front of the door, ventilating harmlessly to the open air.

Whilst the King's entourage had been effected, the Archon himself, evidently, was not when he charged out; polearm tucked behind him and his dominant hand lurching forward. His speed was something none of them expected; like a firework. The red pigmentation of his metal helped camouflage him with their smoke which unfortunately shared a similar hue. Klaus took the first shot, swearing under his breath as his shotgun's spit only grazed the surface of the King's shoulder – and undeterred him from his flight path.

Which, as he realized a moment too late, was directly at him.

He tried to exchange shotgun for sword once the King had gotten too close, but it was a futile effort. His clawed hand crushingly gripped his throat; making the Phantom choke out and drop his weapon in a momentary lapse of strength. The Alien Ruler moved unlike his brethren – smooth, agile, like he had lived in his accursed body for thousands of years with the practice to show. Seamless had the transition been from accelerating forward to now rising upwards to the heavens, loosely holding his captive.

Klaus had never been afraid of heights, but dangling perilously at least twenty feet, possibly higher in the air by the grace of a vindictive Alien holding him by the throat put the phobia straight in him. His instinctive struggling turned to dead weight limp, wheezing out a gasp as he desperately clawed at the King's wrist to latch on. Gravity was already taking it's toll on his shoulders and soon, it was going to be his death.

The King spat something, but with how deep and mechanically growling the tenor of his voice was when enraged; it took them a moment to understand he _**was**_ speaking English; " – This, is XCOM? This is who I should be _afraid_ of?!"

He shook Klaus for emphasis, the poor Ranger whimpering out and trying his best to ration his breath as he was slowly being strangled by the King's grip. Mox and Elena mobilized, with the former shooting forth his grapnel and aiming for the easy targets of his wings. Rather than pierce through the pure gold, he aimed to find the hook some purchase and wrap some of the metal wiring around it and attempt to rein the King towards the roof of the facility, if only to give Klaus a fighting chance of surviving the drop.

The Ruler was wiser than any Network-guided alien they had to face, directing his snarl towards Mox and his attempts, seeing right through them. His strength pitted against Mox's, to which his tugging and writhing almost sent the Skirmisher off the edge. He dug his boots into the roof and his muscles strained, but eventually, the wire snapped. He was sent tumbling off-balance – thankfully still safely on the roof – whilst the King merely readjusted his hover.

Or he would have, had Elena not taken a shot the moment Mox's attempt failed. The bullet was fast and sharp, piercing the King right into the shoulder of the arm that held Klaus. His grip slackened momentarily and that was all that was needed for Klaus' full weight to be hard to bear. He dropped; the ranger screaming instinctively as he scrabbled, fingernails scraping down the King's body and finding some grip on his girdle, at the expense of pulling his muscles. The pulsating agony was a small price to pay in the face of death.

Unfortunately, the close proximity of the jets made itself swiftly known as the heat that coursed through the metal of the Archon's body became too hot for his hand to bear; singing the skin off in third degree burns. He was free falling once more, though his haphazard attempt to remain latched on may have bought his ticket of life as the King had descended a few feet.

He wouldn't come out unscathed – his bays echoing throughout the desolate area as his legs broke the fall, quite literally. Klaus screwed his eyes shut, tempering his agonized howling by burying his head against the ground and vainly trying to regain focus to the fight that would raged on no matter how injured he got.

A shadow cast over him and he expected this to be his end, when the pain momentarily abated as nanomachines stitched his flesh and applied their medicine. He blearily glanced up, seeing ATLAS stand over him like a watchful guardian, phase cannon at the ready and taking multiple, albeit inaccurate shots at the King.

"Bloody hell, this bastard is a tough one to nail!" the robot commented, recalibrating his aim continuously as the King fell back to defensively evading the hail of magnetic fire sent in his direction. "I'd have better luck trying to thread a needle. Ah-hah!"

His shout of success was shadowed by the grunt and growl of the King, cradling his side with a clawed hand as finally, one of ATLAS' shots landed. Between his fire and the shower of bullets from Mox and Elena whom had less obstruction; it was inevitable. Flourishing his plasma staff, the Ruler gathered up a bolt of energy and shot it towards the pair on the rooftop. It missed, but it did serve to make the ground they stood upon unstable and force them back.

"We've got company!" Hecate announced, distraught as the King's call rallied the scattered royal guards back to their liege. The danger grew exponentially as now they faced him and his congregation, each wielding plasma-filled staves ready to cut through all.

Feng bared her teeth, assessing the situation in place of Klaus who was unfit to issue orders as his attention was sorely occupied on the numbing pain of his broken limbs. No doubt, Mox was doing the same at a rate far faster than she could process. They needed to minimize the danger presented to them – and experimentally, the Paladin knew how.

" – Hecate!" she called and the former Priest's attention snapped to her. "Your kind's ability to mind-meld and grant them endurance beyond what they are capable of. Can you perform this binding to us?"

Had she not been wearing her helmet, her surprised would have been easily conveyed. As it stood, only the shocked tone of her voice made it through. "You… you want _me_ to meld with _you_? Do you understand the danger if I – "

"And if you don't, we will die anyway, Judas." Feng spat, well aware of the unfortunate side-effects of such a forced, symbiotic link. She isn't all too assured that her plan would even come into fruition; the Ionic Storm was not a psionic ability many have mastered. In fact, only one; her Prophet Geist, had been able to conjure such a fierce tempest.

But if not now, she thinks, then never. Out in the field of battle, pushed to her very limits instead of cloistered in safe environments and training rooms, she had her shot of pulling it off and buying XCOM the time they needed to drive back the King.

Hecate frowned disapprovingly, but nonetheless was in no position to argue with someone that technically outranked her in the squad. She retrieved her amplification device, stepping back and away from the gathering of muted psionic signatures that told her where the Archons were stationed. Pouring her energy into the amp, she snapped it forth like a whip, connecting with Feng's open and welcoming signature, linking their minds in a distant merge. Feelings flooded to the surface of her thought, past memories of the Paladin toiled and threaten to spill over her own and overwhelm their link.

Feng, on the other hand, exhaled a sharp breath as the Priest's psionic power supplemented her own. She could feel it course through her veins, mingling with her own latent psionic energy. She had melded with Geist before, in the distant past, but never had he allowed his power to touch against her own. This was – exhilarating, scintillating and empowering in every sense of the word.

Her psi-blades shot forth, crackling with unbound energy. With so much additional power at her disposal, it was difficult to focus long enough to keep the blade's form, but Feng off-loaded the clouded thoughts into their meld, freeing up her mind and clearing her focus. She sprinted and with a mighty leap, threw herself into the fray, landing in the middle of the gathered Archons.

Although they lacked psionic capabilities, the Archons grew wary at the display. Nevertheless, she presented herself as the primary threat to their King and they turned to box her in, making sure there was no escape. Though as they closed in, Feng's lips split into a wild, unhinged smile. Just as she wanted, the closer their proximity, the more damage she would do.

With her left psionic blade, she pointed it up to the heavens. Whatever energy that lingered in the air seemed to gather at her feet in primal static and unusual, black-purple clouds congealed around them. At first, it seemed nothing but a warning and eventually, the closest Archon grew tired. Patience was not a virtue in them, and he wielded his plasma stave to crack the Templar's skull.

The moment he drifted too close, the storm begun.

A bolt of pure, psionic energy crashed down from the blackened heaven to smote the Archon, shorting out the delicate biomechanical constructions inside that kept their organs safe and pumping. He let out a choking scrambling gasp, unable to keep up his float as his heart was forced to beat on it's own. It startled the Archons enough to act, but by then, it was too late. The lightning forked from the first afflicted, chaining across as more fierce lightning rained down like holy judgement.

Upholding herself as both the eye of the storm and the lightning rod to call forth the divine bolts, Feng acutely felt her body taxing herself. A sheen of sweat already gathered on her exposed muscles and a migraine bloomed like no other. But whereas before she was unable to sustain the storm due to the mental strain; here, she was able to mitigate it by letting Hecate deal with the maladies.

If she had known that melding with Feng would have brought such pain, she might not have agreed. Hecate whimpered softly, rifle dropping to the ground as she gripped at her helmeted head, slowly being reduced to her knees as the migraine felt less like an annoying headache and more like a deliberating pressure on her brain. Mercifully, it should not be long, as blearily she could feel the Archon's signatures begin to drop one by one; like flies.

The Archon King reared up, not allowed to let his congregation fall by such means. He planned to speed in and tackle Feng out of focus and dismiss the storm through her death, but he found himself unable to even make headway into it. A stray bolt of lightning managed to strike him and he felt the components inside of him quiver. He may have been blessed with sterner stuff than the Archons themselves, but if the psionic energy could bypass all of that and attack him directly at the heart…

He needn't have to worry about the storm – as there were other threats that made themselves known by ATLAS' cannonfire landing squarely in the centre of his wingpiece. It elicited sharp baying of pain, the main engine spluttering and cutting itself off as not to ignite an explosion from the leaking jet fuel. Similarly, his feathers entered a low-powered state, his staff impaling into the ground to keep himself barely afloat.

Baring his teeth, the Archon King analysed the situation he was in. His court, struck down by divine justice; himself wounded and injured. He was capable of repairing himself, but caught so out in the open? XCOM would not allow him to patch himself up. Jax-Mon's words taunted in his mind and he wondered right there and then if she remained after enshrouding herself with shadows. Her burning, intense gaze boring into the battlefield and smugly sneering at his weakness. It was almost enough to prompt him to stay to show her how a true warrior fought – and died.

But he was not simply just a warrior. He was a leader, too. He knew when it was time to withdraw to bolster himself for the next fight.

Drawing away from the approaching squad and surrounded by all sides, the Archon King let out a furious bellow to rally what few Archons remained alive from Feng's devastating storm. The Templar had since ceased her relentless assault, but the sweat and mental exertion that the attack called for had lead her kneeling to catch her breath; the symbiotic mind meld broken to give Hecate some measure of reprieve.

He gathered the massive amount of psionic fallout left over from the storm, using it to power forth a gateway not too dissimilar to the ones utilized by the Codices. Keeping an eye to the roof as Dragunova and Mox attempted their long-range barrage, he – with great strength – retrieved his staff and swung it forth to deflect the incoming bullets, face twisted into a pain grimaced as the low-powered feathers attempted to keep him in flight.

But he only needed a moment for the void to rip apart the air itself and allow him to charge forth towards it, injured Archons in tow and let it swallow them whole, dispersing from the AO to somewhere in another place. The abrupt exit left everyone silent and shaken, before it was cut by Bradford quietly phoning in.

"… _We're not detecting any further hostiles in the AO, Menace. This facility is as good as ours."_

"Och, like you didn't detect the fuckin' Archon King?!" Klaus spat, wincing as he struggled to pull himself up from the ground. The medicine kit ATLAS administered hadn't done much for mending bone, though the agony had since been numbed to something he could start to tolerate. The aforementioned robot helpfully scooped the Phantom up and more than easily coped with his weight with one arm.

" _Watch your tone, Lieutenant."_ Klaus rolled his gaze skywards, steadying himself carefully with his hand splayed against ATLAS' chassis, gripping onto one of the metal bits that stuck out and wouldn't impede the SPARK. _"We've got a working theory that the King must have avoided detection from our sensors. If he so easily managed to slaughter the guards posted here, he must have also been hidden from their sight, too."_

"Yeah, well, workin' theories ain't going to fix my fucking legs." he bitterly muttered, slumping into the alcove of ATLAS. He ignored the last part of Bradford's bite, likely chewing him out for his insubordination.

"Mox, you're going to have to take point. I'm useless like this."

"You can still shoot a gun." the Skirmisher offered, if only to lighten the tension. It worked, if the appearance of wrinkles crickling in the corner of the Ranger's eyes was any indication, giving away his smile behind his bandanna. " – But, very well. Menace, on me. Elena, scout ahead."

Dragunova shoved the stock of her rifle into the glass portion of the roof, destroying it in an almighty shatter and raining shards down below. When all had fallen, she casually sifted through her trench coat to retrieve her rope and begin abseiling down to the facilities foyer. Once she gave the all clear, XCOM began to move forwards.

Unaware that the Assassin stalked them; hot on their heels.

* * *

As Jax-Mon expected, the Archon King fell at the hands of humanity's tenacity. She had warned him of his hubris, that his overconfidence would be his own downfall as it so often was the case with her eldest, too. But she had been mistrusted and ignored; advice cast to the side and he now suffered the wounds of war for it.

She would reap the benefits of such a disastrous encounter later. Right now, she was faced with her second choice.

Jax-Mon need not think _when_ to strike. It was second nature to her – built, in her very genetic code how to fight. But as she watched XCOM slowly crawl past the carnage left behind by the Archon's savagery, her mind wandered as it did once before. The damnable, cursed knowledge of the Avatar Files lingered like a blight to her focus. Ignorance truly was bliss, for she could not simply remain content knowing what she now did.

Did that mean that she, daughter of the Elders; their righteous, holy blade was discontent with _**them**_? The veneer of religious zealotry had peeled back since her acquisition of the files and they no longer glowed with a benevolent light. Unanswered questions multiplied like breeding rabbits and Jax-Mon was dissatisfied with the lack of clarity.

Allowing XCOM to claim their prize from the Forge was something she could not – should not sit idle for. But curiosity was a corrupting thing and had been many death sentences for humans before. She could fabricate lies for the Network as she had done to protect XCOM's mole; Lennert. But.. could she lie to her masters?

Why did she harbour such a thought? Consider it a _possibility_? Jax-Mon concluded that in consuming the information, she had long severed herself from the Elders' embrace, even if they had yet to learn of it. If she was already so far gone, beyond redemption, she may as well understand the truth, especially if they were not going to be forthcoming with it.

She followed them, like a silent ghost haunting their shadows, observing them approach the clean room. The Reaper – Dragunova – took point, heading off into the room first after grunting when the sterilization hit in the form of heavy duty fans. Seeing no further threat, she shouldered her rifle and eyed the singular pod and access panel.

Jax-Mon watched, gaze burning, breath bated as she strolled up to the panel. With every passing beat of her heart, she felt a compelling like no other. An ethereal, otherworldly demand that she stop this nonsense and deliver justice like she was created to do. The pressure intensified upon the crown of her head as she remained immobile, throat tight and mouth dry when Dragunova input the last command.

The chamber's doors rolled back, revealing an exact duplicate of the suit that had housed Kingsley during her time within the Network. However this time, instead of her withered body within the stasis suit, Jax-Mon knew the infant creation of a prototype Avatar was within it. Her wits scattered, she could only dumbly watch as the body fell forward. Elena caught it carefully, gently lowering it to the ground.

_Daughter._

Jax-Mon barely heard her Mother's harsh whispered words against her mind. Even less, her futile, screeching command.

_Stop them! Do not allow them to claim the body – !_

Dragunova reached down, collecting the stasis suit without conflict, carrying it like one might a wounded soldier. As there was no further use within the facility, Mox broke off from the squad to set the explosive charges and rendevous with the squad back at the extraction point. Jax-Mon took a singular step back to allow Dragunova to move unimpeded, though the Reaper stopped, glancing towards the air she once stood in.

" – Dragunova?" Feng questioned as she sidled up beside her.

"Nothing." she gruffly responded. "Thought I saw a ghost."

Jax-Mon's head turned towards Hecate as she dutifully followed the two. Her hand reached out, as if to grasp her shoulder and alert only her to her presence – but she was stopped by a force not of this world.

No amount of God-gifted abilities could help her anticipate the impeding doom that awaited her when the Elder – her Mother's – psionic force twisted and wrapped around her, pulling her out of that plain of reality – and into the alien chamber centered at the womb of the world.


	48. Genesis

The psionic energy of her creator was not warm, nor welcoming as it was before. It constricted her coldly with a veneer of disgust that her subconscious felt. Words died on the tip of Jax-Mon's tongue, the pressurized headache only intensifying into a migraine when she was spat unceremoniously out to the unfeeling chamber floor. Purple braziers ominously lit the four corners of the biomechanical room, casting a hellish purple lowlight that left shadows dancing around the centremost pyre.

Nervousness knit her muscles into tight, fleshy knots, rising from the ground with elegance. The chamber seemed.. oddly vacant of the Elders' presence, though she dare not pace and explore when she knew the reason why she had been brought before them, like a convict to their judge.

No, like _a child to their parents._

Restlessly and perhaps a touch stubborn, Jax-Mon childishly paced towards her marked platform, returning to the ground to her meditation pose. A million arguments ran concurrent with her questions, a thousand more imploring wishes to understand what she had learnt following that. The Assassin knew she would not be satisfied with them handwaving what she had learnt away by mere fact that she should have remained ignorant to it. The fact it existed at all – that this was their opinion of it, did not make it any better.

If her brother could hear her thoughts now, he would slander such sacrilegious statements! But truly, does not one have to be divine to earn such holy ire? No true God would speak ill of their children as her Mother had of the Chosen. Her brothers may have been…

…

 _ **Difficult**_ , but to swear them _bastards_ in the archaic sense? To scorn and deride Father? Did the Elders feud with one another?

The most poignant point of contention seemed to be their wildly different stances on the Commander. What had Father intended for her that had upset Mother so much so that she would actively disown her children and any association with him? Jax-Mon had the grace to be shaped by her hand, but her actions today in allowing XCOM one step further and finally earning the edge against the aliens would only have one of two conclusions.

She felt the psionic energy stir within the chamber once more and her posture snapped straight, senses heightened. The room was remarkably still of any sort of life or activity save for the breathing of the interwoven wiring that she sat upon, the living components coded within the metal silently alive and steadily _writhing_ like a mass of bugs. The energy bore the same as her Mother, but her presence was not felt, not entirely. Something else was teleporting in.

Jax-Mon's head cocked towards the pillar of energy, tilting it slightly when it revealed Dhag-Il. She may have ignored him, had it not been for the mild confusion that spilled across his face. He did not know why he had been called here just as sudden as he had – and that only blossomed an unspeakable amount of concern and self-preservation.

His gaze locked with her deer-like realization and she almost smiled at his own empathy breaching past his haughtiness, if the second pillar materializing and bringing their sibling, Dhag-Mai, hadn't stopped her.

"Oh sister," he sung, smug grin displaying both rows of sharpened teeth; glittering within the lowlight of the room. "You've gone and been quite naughty. Mommy dearest isn't happy, especially as she's dragged us both from our work. Y'know, if you wanted some pointers on how to misbehave and _**not**_ get caught.."

"Be silent, you wretch." Dhag-Il muttered beside him, flaying his brother with a killing look. The level of genuine concern in his visage prompted the Hunter's grin to fall to a spiteful frown. "This is no joking matter."

Facing his attention to more important things as the Hunter sulked off – strangely, not to his platform, but rather one of the supporting structures so he could lean upon it. Dhag-Il's tone softened when he addressed Jax-Mon.

"If you cast yourself in reverence to Her, She may take pity on you. This is your first offence after all."

"That's not gonna cut it for the _little miss perfect child."_ Dhag-Mai interjected with a volatile mixture of malice and joy, creating a cruelty that far surpassed any of the Elder's spite. The Warlock looked ready to silence him personally, when the Hunter seamlessly continued, cheek propped in the palm of his hand and directing his grin towards the increasingly paling Assassin.

"You did the _ **one thing**_ none of us ever dared to do, mainly because of how foolish it is to do so. You've proven an Elder wrong. Congratulations. If it's any consolation, I think my respect for you went up."

"Still your tongue, lest I cut it from your flapping jaw." Jax-Mon finally regained her voice and when she did, she spat poison and hellfire, burning with a renewed anger that combusted her nerves into red-hot fury. She had not forgotten Dhag-Mai's intention with her project. She would not let him have the satisfaction of launching the attack and claiming the Commander alone. "I have done nothing of the sort! My transgressions are nothing but a curiosity and the willingness to learn! Mother would punish no child for that."

She added, just as strong. "True. Perhaps my performance in defending the Forge was lacklustre, but I have surely earned us the support of the Archon King once I further negotiate with him. XCOM's progress is all for naught when we launch OUR attack."

A cold feeling of dread set in her stomach when _pity_ was the first thing that Dhag-Mai gave her.

"You really are clueless." he simply said, more to himself than anything. "I felt.. I felt something. Dhag-Il, I think I just felt _**sorry**_ for her!"

He was given no further pleasure from his mockery. Dhag-Il was preparing himself for what they would witness, something that he had to watch twice over during the early stages of the Hunter's insubordination. Father was not a kind soul when it came to his son's disobedience, but he had never had to face the hot iron of Mother's wrath. He knew only whispers of it's harshness. For all the plots and plans he had weaved to ensure Jax-Mon's end, to witness it now..?

 _Coward_ , he could already hear Dhag-Mai crooning. _Nothing but a coward._

The Assassin bared her teeth in a snarl towards them both, enough that she rolled to her feet, not willing to back down, when the pyre lit with an almighty, roaring flame. The heat washed over her unpleasantly – not at all like the cooing warmth she only known her Mother to hold. It was ice-hot, intent on burning impurity. Uncertainty settled on her swiftly as still, her brethren refused to take their platforms.

 _Daughter_.

Jax-Mon fell to a kneel instantly, head bowed, heart pounding. Whatever bravado she had worked up had diminished the second her Mother made herself known; the large image of her likeness forming from the purple flame. Using the blaze like a cloak, she did not seem like a benevolent God. No true divine would hold the brimming, underlining hatred that she felt just beneath the surface of her control.

_Take the Warlock's platform._

Wordlessly, she obeyed, rising from her own and drifting towards the Warlock's. She didn't know why, but it did put her directly in centre view of the bridge where her brothers lingered on. Throat suddenly dry, it was easy to picture their sets of eyes not upon her – there was only she and her Mother in the chamber.

"Mother, I – "

_**SILENCE.** You will not speak._

Jax-Mon shut her mouth and squared her jaw, suppressing a knowing whimper. With every passing moment, she felt the Elder's wrath edge closer and closer over her mind, giving her but a taste of how disappointed She was in her. She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard just barely, a concealed titter of anticipated laugh from the Hunter. He was _enjoying_ this. If anything, she felt her own pity towards him. Being the dog that the Elders' kicked when things did not go their way had taken it's toll on him. She didn't expect he'd be anything less than merely happy it wasn't happening to _him_.

_You have failed Us, Jax-Mon Balladhur. Your task was a simple one. Perhaps the most simple duty of them all. You are allowed – nay, – it is your DIVINE MISSION to eliminate Our enemies. All fall to your blade without distinction and yet. XCOM still lives. XCOM leaves with the fruits of our labours. You did not even attempt to stop them._

The Assassin, as asked of her, remained silent. She felt her Mother's judgement roll over her like an impending wave and she could do nothing but keep her eyes shut and brace herself.

_But perhaps the most grievous offense of them all is how you have grown. You left Our stasis chamber a perfection creation, crafted by Our hand, untainted by human drivel. Yet you have not upheld Our standard. You have became tainted. Impure. **Imperfect**._

_It is with a heavy heart that We must do this. Know that everything We have ever done for you has been out of love, Our child. You force Our hand. YOU brought this upon yourself._

Pain, unlike anything she had ever experienced before – even death, did not compare to Mother's judgement smiting upon her back. The intense, psionic energy burned hotter than Earth's core, intent on unraveling the very code that made up her body. Forced prone as the otherworldly energy seared into her back and no doubt left weals upon her flesh, Jax-Mon's tolerance could only go so far before her whimpering grunts vocalized into louder, desperate wails.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her mind made to focus on the intensity of the agony inflicted upon her. Her own psionics screamed, seizing inside of her like anaphylactic shock to the Elder's overpowering, all-consuming power. Somewhere amidst her punishment she liked to believe Mother heard her pitiful croaks of her invoking her name, begging – begging her to stop for the pain began to simmer. It still burned on her back; lingering with the after images of her torment that played ad nauseam in her mind, but she registered that Mother finally relented.

Somewhere, Jax-Mon still managed to have enough wits about her to force her body to rise from the floor, showing Mother proper respect and supplication as she knelt, head buried against the raised knee and gaze staring despondently, blearily, to the Warlock's sigil emblazoned at her feet.

 _Oh, dear child, do not cry,_ A different tone, then. Softer, sweeter. Jax-Mon flinched and froze up when the ghost of her psionic energy enveloped her kindly, squeezing in warning that she better relax. Jax-Mon could not. _Know that it hurts Us more than it hurts you. We have never wanted to cause such pain! Why must you disobey Us?_

Unbeknownst to the Assassin, Dhag-Mai tensed at the choice of words. Whatever enjoyment he got from the display had since drained when hearing his sister's torture, leaving him feeling empty and a void of uneasy apprehension filling it. He spared a silent look over towards his brother, seeing him struggle with keeping his own disgust in check. One of his gauntlets nursed the lower half of his face and he seemed to have a hard time watching something that did not require an audience.

"You kept.." Her throat was ever so dry, it hurt to enunciate even a single word, but still, she powered through, her voice coming out broken, shot and scratchy. " – You kept the Avatar Files unknown to us. To _me_. I'm not your daughter. I'm your genetic control project to be scrapped once you've perfected the Avatar! You ask why I disobey? Why did you lie to me? Why did you make me feel like I was worth something – or that I was actually a being!? _**Why**_!?"

Nothing greeted her senses other than the gentle monotony of the chamber and the crackling of psionic fire. The embrace left her, tossed her aside like the _thing_ she was to them. Despite the shock etched into the brothers' faces, it was Dhag-Mai who mobilized first, boldly striding forward. He didn't get even a step on the platform when the Elder's energy stopped him advancing any further.

"Elder Joy," he spoke swiftly, to the point and with none of the mockery. "I advise you to leave things as it is now. Jax-Mon is clearly feeling a little.. emotional from the discovery – "

He should've kept to himself. He cringed when the full weight of her fury turned to him.

 _How_ DARE _you presume you can return to your abandoned duty and inform me of what I should and should not do? I have tolerated your pathetic behaviour because I want no part of Tzaphkiel's spawn. Do not give me a reason to unmake you, brat._

 _And you,_ Joy returned to Jax-Mon, the Assassin withering under her fire. _Have only proven how far you have fallen. I see now that you have left me no choice but to reclaim and restart you from scratch. Do not make this any more difficult than it has to be. Your brothers will bare witness to what happens when you disobey Us._

"I _really_ don't advise this," Dhag-Mai lamely piped up once more in vain, eyes fixated upon his sister as he knew she was reaching for her katana. In all his prediction and analysis, the option of her fighting back against the Elders was negligible. Something not even the Commander would have considered a variable and therefore, neither did he. But he adapted and he saw now what was about to unravel. He winced, in preparation for what was about to go down as Joy continued to ignore his counsel.

As the divine bolt of the Elder's wrath descended upon the Assassin once again, she lifted her unstoppable blade to intercept the heavens, grunting and physically recoiling. She'd saw the Templar perform the same act with her parlor tricks, riding off the power trip Hecate gifted upon her. It seemed her katana, forged by the very hands of the Gods, acted as a perfect conduit and lightning rod. She only need to deal with the force of the power than the crippling, unmaking energy itself.

"Dhag-Il!" she yelled over the roaring flame, eyes squeezing shut, feeling her balance steadily becoming looser the more psionic energy that Joy exerted. The Warlock himself stared dumbfounded at the scene, partly aghast at the true colours of Mother's hatred and Jax-Mon's defiance.

"You were HER son! You were Kingsley's son!" Further, Jax-Mon was forced, her legs bucking, collapsing to her knees as her grip on her katana numbed. "That's the only reason why Tzaphkiel favoured you and you will get no sympathy from Mother now – "

_**SPEAK NO FURTHER, WRETCH!** _

"Everything you and Dhag-Mai have done against me, I forgive," Either if this was true or not, it was secondary to the absolute pressure she was under from the weight of the Elder's attack. Jax-Mon could feel the flames lick at her hands, scorching past the armour in an ethereal, otherworldly fire that seemed to burn her soul than her skin. "But I need you to help me!"

"I-In.." Dhag-Il cleared his throat, finding his voice remarkably croaky and embedded with repressed emotion. Not only was he watching his sister die at the hands at his masters', what she spoke of he found.. impossible to process at the moment. His mind worked, the Network oddly unresponsive. He found himself.. lost.

" – In defying the Elders?"

"You need only teleport me to my Stronghold!"

_**DO SO, AND YOU WILL BE NEXT, VALLINOR.** _

"The competition is a farce regardless! The Chosen have no place by the Elders' side. We're just tools," Jax-Mon grunted, supporting herself with her free hand splaying on the ground. Her muscles cried in exertion, her mind shuddered at the strain. But still, she persevered, holding out a lasting hope that her words got through to Dhag-Il's stupor and fanaticism and for him to see the truth.

"To be recycled when we have outlived our usefulness!"

Dhag-Il's gauntlet slowly slipped from his face, throwing a sidelong look over to Dhag-Mai. The Hunter's face was brightly lit thanks to the closeness of the psionic pillar, his own lips twisted in a grimace of apprehension. If his brother, the tactical genius that he was touted to be, had little idea on how to proceed – or rather, hesitated at which direction TO dive for, that left him on his own.

Surely, this was what he wanted? To see his sister unmade? She was not the only one that had her mind tormented by thoughts of his masters' inconsistencies. The void that so often assured him now was dead silent, deafened under the primal power of his Mother's judgement.

… But she was not _his_ mother, was she?

It made sense. Too much sense, enough that he was horrified at his blind ignorance. From Father's need for the Commander to the lack of Joy's presence in either his or Dhag-Mai's life, to even the early implementation of the Avatar. Had it really been a test, as they'd said, or some feeble attempt on Father's behalf to secure the Commander? It was driving their resources and their efforts downhill. The same zealotry that driven them was becoming their downfall. Now he understood why Dhag-Mai had pushed to try and divert the sentencing.

As the last of Jax-Mon's strength began to wane out, Dhag-Il finally acted, siphoning from the power stored within the chamber, wrapping tendrils of his own energy around the Assassin's signature and rescuing her under the hellfire. She managed to mouth a quiet 'thank you' before she disappeared from sight, safely teleported to the confines of her stronghold. Joy's attack hit the ground, sending the intricate wirings to reel and burning off a portion of the Warlock's sigil from the platform.

_**YOU.** _

– _That is quite enough, Joy._

The two brothers winced on instinct when the voice of their Father interrupted Joy's rage. Dhag-Il did not know if he had been there the entire time, or if he had arrived just in time like divine intervention. He dare not breach his scorched platform to pay proper respect, he merely lowered where he stood. Dhag-Mai lingered upright for a moment, before pushing away from the steps and moving to the Warlock, looking uneasy.

"Come on." he gruffly mumbled once he was within Dhag-Il's earshot, wasting no time in grabbing his sibling's arm and urging him more physically. The Warlock narrowed his eyes, trying to pull his arm out of his grip in futility and huffed, staring questioningly.

"Trust me and I know how _that_ sounds," Dhag-Mai hissed. "You do not want to be here when they fight."

_**How dare you –** _

_I dare. My sons are not yours to punish. If I have found Dhag-Il's behaviour wanting, I will talk to him accordingly -  
_

For once, Dhag-Il agreed with his brother and allowed himself to be dragged off, further from the chamber, the echoing voices of the Elders' bickering still floating in his mind.

* * *

Once they were sufficiently out of the Elders' reach without reigning them back into the chamber, Dhag-Il yanked himself free with enough force that it sent Dhag-Mai off kilter. He regained his balance easily, his back facing his brother and silence thickly sitting between them. He seemed all too eager to get away from what they had witnessed and really – the Warlock did not blame him.

But with Jax-Mon out of sight, his worry did not end, clouded with the words she imparted with before he had teleported her away.

"Is it true?" Dhag-Il quietly asked, causing the Hunter to pause in his step, still refusing to face him. "Does Jax-Mon speak the truth?"

The very fact that Dhag-Mai said nothing raised all alarm. He stormed to his side, grabbing his shoulder roughly and forcing him to face him. Shadows gathered at the mouth of the hood, leaving only twin pink-purple eyes to smoulder beneath the lip. He did not meet Dhag-Il's gaze, no matter how much he shook him.

"Answer me!"

"Does it matter?" Dhag-Mai closed his eyes as furious indignation gathered like a tempest across the features of his brother's face.

"Does it – _Does it_ _ **matter**_ _if I am the son of Commander Kingsley_?!" he repeats, making sure the Hunter truly understood the question. Drawing in a great, stressful sigh and exhaling slowly, Dhag-Mai's shoulders finally slumped in defeat, hand moving to push through the shade and run through the covered hair.

"Everything Jax-Mon said is true." he flatly confirms. He raised up his hands, stopping Dhag-Il's question that he predicted was on the tip of his tongue. " – And yes, I knew. I don't know how she got access to the Avatar Files, because it's not in her clearance level. Or yours, for that matter."

"You.. knew." Slowly, Dhag-Il's grip released his shoulder, staring at him in a mystifying combination of shock and hatred. "And you never thought to tell me? Don't try and justify it that the Elders told you not to. I know you don't care what they think."

Dhag-Mai did not speak for the longest time, until finally, he offered his answer, pitifully quiet.

"It wasn't the most beneficial decision to make. I may not give a shit about the Elders, but Father damn well programmed me to care about making the most strategic moves. You can thank Kingsley's lack of empathy for that one. Telling you was.. an inadvisable risk."

"But you miscalculated." Dhag-Il pointed out, voice practically a shell of itself. Dhag-Mai bared his teeth, hating even hearing it himself, before gingerly, he nodded, tone softening as he did so.

"Jax-Mon learning about the files was never a consideration. I've never fucked up a plan, Dhag-Il. I don't know where to go from here." His brows furrowed. "I do have a pretty good guesstimate of the direction it is heading. I.. I have – I have to go.. attend things."

It sounded like a lame excuse to leave, even to his own ears and sure enough, Dhag-Il wasn't buying it. He'd never seen his brother so aimless before, having a hard time adjusting to the meltdown the Network was currently under with the tantrum that Joy threw. The Hunter muttered something under his breath, once more wiping a hand down his face.

"There's something I don't understand, Dhag-Mai. Why stand by idle when you knew of the Elders plans? Why even continue with the charade?" the Warlock further pressed, following in his absent-minded step. He paused, affronted when the Hunter whirled on him and jabbed a harsh finger at his breastplate.

"Do you think I have a _**choice**_? Hilarious. Why do you think Mother would have even heeded my advice in the first place? I've been the fuckin' _backup_ that's ran the Network in place of the Commander. And if I want to be free, Kingsley has be shoved back in the tank." He pulled away, sneering.

"So whatever grievances you need to get sorted with your newfound information, get it over with quickly. Elder Joy won't allow Kingsley to escape a second time when we get her back."

Dhag-Il, awestruck, could only watch as the Hunter turned away and continued to storm down the hallway. He knew he couldn't even think that it all happened in an instant; this confrontation between the Elders and Jax-Mon had been brewing since the brothers plotted to oust her and now, everything was falling apart at the seams. At the very least – XCOM still believed they were a cohesive, functional unit.

Perhaps the image of that was all they needed to curb any brash or forward attempts whilst XCOM indubitably had the advantage.

* * *

Landing painfully on the cold stone of her Stronghold, Jax-Mon found it a sanctuary from the Hell she had just escaped from. Her muscles ached, her mind protested, wailing and flashing with the after-images of the punishing energy, but still she forced her palms to the floor and pushed herself up to her knees, before finally onto her feet.

Even now, with Joy seemingly… occupied, she felt the clutches of her disappointment and anger lick at the edges of her consciousness. The Assassin swallowed thickly, feeling the weight of her katana like judgement manifest at the choice she had made. There was no going back, now. She had to survive.

And unfortunately, she knew what that meant.

Severing Joy's hold on her would mean disconnecting herself from the Network, not something she could actively fight through willpower alone. The aforementioned interfaced flashed with a thousand warnings, slamming her thoughts with the mental strain of her actions. But, it could not stop her like an ADVENT unit. She was not bound by their hold.

It did make her realize that as soon as she was successful at disconnecting, she would lose access to all of her resources and control over her base. Thus, Jax-Mon fought through the error messages, screwing her eyes shut and concentrating on sending out a singular command. ' _Disperse. Your service is no longer needed to me.'_

Cracking an uneasy eye open, Jax-Mon wobbled a little off-balance, before regaining her step and pushing onward. The skeleton crew that worked her base seemed to simultaneously stop what they were doing to collect their things and begin evacuating to receive their next set of orders back at the nearest outpost or base. Good. Her command was received.

Each step was like her feet were encased in a tonne of iron, her senses scattered by the assault she had to endure. But her singular purpose and focus drove her forward no matter the cost, towards her gateway to her inner chambers.

For the first time, she felt what nausea was when traveling through the gateway. The alien glow of her sarcophagus felt oppressive – blinding, even, than the comforting reminder of the Elders' ubiquitous presence. Jax-Mon readjusted her grip on her katana; the blade still coated in the vast powerful energies and powered to the foot of the floating tablet.

Her gaze studied the featureless monolith of purple psionic energy, before it dropped to her blade. The one thing she could truly trust in all that she had witnessed and learned. Jax-Mon drew in a breath and exhaled slowly.

"Imperfect." she repeats an echo of her Mother's insult. " – You truly believe I am at fault when you created me to fail in the first place, Mother? I am an antithesis to myself. A futile struggle. But.."

Her pity dissolved into her dogged determination, setting her burning glare to the coffin. "I will have the choice to decide if I fail or not. If the struggle **_is_** futile. I am done letting you and others puppeteer my fate any longer."

Tossing the katana up once and catching it by the handle, Jax-Mon reared her hand back and threw her blade fast and as forceful as she could. It sailed in the air before it stabbed into the once thought impenetrable stone. Jax-Mon tensed, awaiting the worst.

Nothing happened.

A small bead of sweat formed on her forehead as she stared, waiting. The energy had dispersed from the force of her attack, but it was as if the world decided to stand still, contemplating her choice.

And when it had finished, the first crack formed from the impact, spidering up like lightning scars to the top of the tablet. Then the second. The third.

It _**shattered**_.

Pieces of the sarcophagus flew, ricocheting off the floor and railings, causing the chamber to rumble like an earthquake. With her God-gifted balance, Jax-Mon remained standing, but she cast her arm out to shield her face as the destruction unfolded. Crumbling to ruin, she felt, existentially, her connection to the Void snap in the very moment the first crack appeared. She was no longer beholden to the Elders.

She was no longer… _**anything**_.

Silently, the Assassin wandered to the rubble, collecting her katana from the debris and sheathing it, slowly lowering to sit before the ruination of her preordained legacy. Her mind was singular, empty of the Network's tasks and protocols. Her psionics were mute, close to herself and humming just beneath the surface. Afraid.

Faced with such uncertainty now, Jax-Mon could only do the one thing she was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, certain of.

She began to clean her blade.


	49. Spiral

Once the Hunter was within the sanctity of his own stronghold, he uncorked the emotional bottles he'd filled from the family gathering and let it all out in one shuddered breath.

Eyes wide and wild, he stumbled absent-minded – off balance – towards the control room, simply letting his feet take him, mind still swimming with what he had witnessed. Or, more accurately, the failure he'd made. Whilst watching his sister be punished under the wrath of her own mother was uncomfortable to say the least, his woes were steadfastly steeped in his own making.

A miscalculation. He had never, in all his years active as the Elders' attack dog and Network packmule ever miscalculated a prediction. He didn't believe in luck or fate beyond that of it's mathematical probability – Dhag-Mai had made an error and even after going over his calculations a thousand and one times, couldn't make heads or tails out of _where_ or _how_.

Getting the Elders involved to unmake her had proved what they always were - a fickle solution that was prone to backfire. In all his simulations, not a single one shown that she would resist the Elders' decision. It threw him for such a loop that he was point blank _wrong_ that he wasn't sure if the current plan was heading in the correct direction. The moment she began to resist, everything fell apart for him and he did not know if he needed her dead or alive to succeed. So, he did not interfere with Dhag-Il's equally surprising choice to aid her.

He.. _did not know._ The very admittance rose non-existent bile to the back of his throat. How?

Dhag-Mai could contemplate the _hows_ all he liked about her acquiring the Avatar Files, but he was too practical for that. It happened and now he had to adjust all his plans around it. Something that was increasingly difficult as he realized he didn't know his sister as much as he thought he did. Not knowing her meant he couldn't predict her actions.

Who knows what she was going to do now. Join XCOM? Fight independently? Commit suicide on the contemplation of her meaningless existence? All were as likely as they were equally _not_.

He hated it.

Instead of stewing in his own insidious loathing, he pushed himself to move on to something he could tackle. He despised Kingsley's ingrained habits and all the vile things that had been imprinted onto him during the ascension, but he was thankful that she had the sense to move on from a problem she couldn't tackle rather than throw a pity party about it. The absolutes still in his favour was his advantageous hostage – and the artillery.

The most likely outcome, though he still snarled at the low percentage, was Jax-Mon moving to interrupt him once he launched the attack. Well, he beat her before, the addition of a small army at his disposal wouldn't make his chances any weaker.

" – My Chosen," a voice called, snapping him out of deep thinking. It seemed he'd arrived at the control room and was tightly latched onto the back of a chair, boring holes into the smooth monitors. Dhag-Mai glanced down to the recently promoted Officer. He was a former Trooper once, until the Hunter dispatched the squad lead out of boredom, under the guise that the late Officer _upset_ him somehow.

"It better be good." he grumbled, raising a hand to wipe at his face, pushing it just further into his hood to smooth what little hair had remained from his ascension. "I'm not a happy camper today."

"Yes, sir." the Officer cleared his throat and got straight to the point. "We've been monitoring the stronghold as per your request in your absence and picked up strange electromagnetic frequencies coming from inside the base."

Dhag-Mai perked up a little. As much as it spelled trouble, if it meant he could mindlessly slaughter someone poking their nose into places it shouldn't belong, then he wasn't going to say no to a free, easy kill. He squinted when the Officer pointed at the frequency – and he easily deduced the type it was.

"Not an EMP. It's a transmission. Quick, intermittent ones.." he mused, head tilting slightly. "Curious and curiouser. What's its source?"

"That's the strange thing, sir. The origin of the emission is a _person_ , not any external device we can determine."

Dhag-Mai leaned over the back of the chair, gaze studying the statistics in-front of him before a frown began to etch it's way onto his face. Of course, it wasn't just any person. The universe might've decided to let the Hunter be for just one day, but he couldn't have expected her to do nothing but sit pretty and tinker with the tools he gave her. No, he'd have to sort this business out and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Don't say I never warned you." he muttered, pushing himself away from the chair and dismissing the Officer. With a scowl set, he headed off towards the main workshop within his stronghold.

* * *

" … so _obviously_ we should start replacing the lining of these tubes from copper to elerium. It'll help with that pesky heat problem which, by the way, this cannon still has no matter how much of an external sink or power source you're going with."

"Obviously." Fiducia responded to Lily Shen's umpteenth ramble of that night. If there was anything really of note that had happened since the Hunter allowed her outside the cell to work on the project, it was that her penchant for explanations and long-winded speeches drove through his programming.

The content of which, were naturally brilliant. He had no qualms about that. But, having never really worked with free-thinking humans before, the way she leapt and jumped from one topic to the next – even answering her own posed questions in some cases – was giving him the most bizarre headache. If anything, he was still expecting her to be a difficult prisoner, hell-bent on making their lives living hell.

But.. truthfully, Lily had been docile. That was what kept Fiducia at high alert.

He didn't buy for a minute that the Chief Engineer of XCOM was happy enough to work with the Hunter, let alone work on a project that would be their downfall. He triple checked her work at every minute detail she progressed on and found no discrepancies or irregularities. His paranoia that she was sabotaging their project or finding some way to help XCOM on the other side was frankly effecting his own performance.

His own saving grace had been that Dhag-Mai was called elsewhere and only just returned _now._ The Hunter only concerned himself with things such as Fiducia's workflow when he was well and truly bored. An easy feat, as he was oft so, but there had been many things occupying the absent God's mind. Things that he didn't even try to guess.

"Speaking of, psionic batteries or generators?" she added, idly pointing at Fiducia with a screwdriver, the part she was tinkering with splayed loose on the workbench, unamused gaze swinging over to him. " – _**Horrendous**_ idea. Do you know how difficult it is to work with psionic _anything_ when you're an engineer with no Gift? I don't mean to insult your grand masters,"

"But you will anyway." he lightly said. Fiducia should've been more annoyed than he really was that she was about to dish out her scathing opinion, but it unfortunately held a lot of hard truth that even Dhag-Mai had uttered once or twice.

"But," Lily snatched the conversation back to her tangent. "They need to re-evaluate their workplan going forward. It's downright hostile design to include something only a bare fraction of engineers are even capable of fixing. If those generators kick out, the only one capable of fixing it is Madron."

"I think that's the point."

"It's _**beside**_ the point."

Wiping at the lower half of his face, as pinching the bridge of his nose wasn't an option, Fiducia weathered out an exasperated sigh and lowered his datapad.

"I'll lodge your complaint for the Network." he flatly intoned. " – Complaint number two-five-five-two-two recognized. Take your ticket and wait your turn."

"Twenty-five thousand complaints in the engineering department alone?! I mean, my points speak for themselves." she then pauses and blinks, recognizing what he'd done after the fact.

" – Oh, that was a joke, wasn't it."

"Yes."

"You'll forgive me in that I don't expect anyone but the Skirmishers to have humour."

"If you've finished ripping apart our structure with your commentary," There was some merit in having most of his face obscured – Lily wouldn't have seen him roll his eyes to the heavens at her drastically missing the joke. Humour wasn't something ADVENT was devoid of; at least not when the soldier ranked as high in the upper echelons as he did. _Some_ autonomy was required for intricate positions.

"Then I'd like you to submit the piston sooner rather than later. The faster we work on the ammunition cycling, the better." Yet still, he continued to hover around her workspace, much to Lily's previously voiced annoyance. For the most part she tried to ignore his presence, as he was simply doing his duty and she certainly hadn't forgotten her status, no matter how VIP, but being a solo engineer for so long had acclimatized her to solitary, unobserved work.

She might have been _slightly_ conscious of her habits, on the ones that raised brows. It had been quite a hurdle to get Fiducia to believe that she wasn't skipping meals out of spite or as a form of harming herself in a way out of their control; but rather a lack of appetite as work took precedent over all. It was only when the threat of being force fed hung over her did Lily realise how much she sacrificed for a job well done. A habit she unfortunately couldn't break when she was forced to perform for the enemy, either.

"It'll be done when it's done." she jutted her chin out defiantly. She may not be able to be a physical nuisance, but she hid behind the shield of her work easily – and Fiducia couldn't exactly argue with points he'd used himself to the Chosen Assassin. "Push me around all you want, but I am not giving the Hunter an inch to latch onto. Not that I think he'd need an excuse to really do _anything_ , but. It's the **principal** of the matter."

Lily glanced up when Fiducia didn't reply, catching his head angling slightly past her shoulder, hand forming into a fist to bump his chest in standing salute. _Speak of the devil_ , she thinks, sliding her gaze to the other side where the Hunter was making decent pace towards their workshop. She shuddered – even so far away, she could feel the sharp sting of his icy attention squarely upon her as he advanced.

It wasn't an uncommon sight to see him stalking the catwalks or moving like a shadow to the various parts of the cannon, so for the most part, Lily blocked his encroaching form out of sight and mind as she returned to her tools. She barely managed to lift the electronic screwdriver when Dhag-Mai's gripped her shoulder like a vice.

"What – " Her voice trailed off in a hiss of pain when he shoved her partially onto the workbench, scattering the tools and materials on the floor in a noisy clatter. Thoughts raced to the worst and self-defence called for her to gaze for a weapon, but it was swiftly replaced with a grimacing wince as the deceptively thin blade of his combat knife snugly rest on the skin of her neck.

"Imagine my surprise," he started out, voice a rumbling purr despite the seething anger laced into the tenor. "Coming back to my... humble abode and learning that a certain someone isn't behaving themselves. Do you not like it here, Lily? Do you not like the gift of knowledge I've left? Lesser humans than you would kill to be in the kind of position you are right now, rubbing elbows with the best of this planet's minds."

_Don't be too modest of yourself there._ She thought darkly, even as the situation was rapidly developing south for her. Her hands gripped the edge of the workbench tightly, craning her head away as the knife's point dug further into her neck, leaving a blemish of pricked, raised skin. Lily closed her eyes briefly as the panic washed over her in nauseating waves and her gaze returned to skim for a weapon, to no avail.

Knowing it would be worse to leave Dhag-Mai without an answer, she tentatively replied; "I've done everything you've asked of me to the letter. I swear, if you've seen some defect in the cannon, it's not my – "

Her response tapered out with a whimper when he slid the knife just quick enough to draw a deeper line of blood. The stinging sensation set in immediately, and droplets of crimson stained the blackish-silver blade. Every hard-headed sense of her was screaming that she would not be made into a weeping wreck at his hands and with one controlled breath, Lily set an insistent, truthful look to his increasingly maddening one.

"Wrong answer." he told, tone far too calm. "Ignorance does not become you. I'm not speaking about the cannon."

Of course, Lily knew. He'd discovered her sending co-ordinates to XCOM, then. But the chip was in an unfortunate place of being inside of her hand and offering the solution to safely override it to deactivate it did not seem like a suggestion that Dhag-Mai would take from her.

After catching Lily sending Fiducia a somewhat helpless look, the Hunter snapped and slammed his hand down on the bench, making her jerk and further cut herself against the knife to her neck. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, gritting them and clenching her jaw to ride out the worst of the sharp pain.

"Where is it?" Dhag-Mai demanded. "I know the transmission device is inside of you. _**Where**_."

"P-Perhaps," Fiducia finally sprung into action, much to Lily's relief as he cleared his throat. Had it not been for the Network's training, he would have withered under the intensity of Dhag-Mai's burning glare. " – We should allow a Medic to look over her. A simple pulse should be enough to overcome the device's programming."

Lily decided she liked Fiducia after all. After mentally singing his praises in her mind, all hope was dashed when the Hunter barked out an indignant laugh.

"Oh, she'd _hope_ it'd be as pain free as that." His attention returned to her, much to her chagrin and safety. "But she forsook that chance by keeping this a secret from me. You had ample opportunity to inform me about this device and I might've simply deactivated it, Lily. But you _didn't._ "

"I did tell you. I said that I would never spit in the face of humanity, or XCOM." Her head tilted just a bit higher to meet his, hoping she sounded as confident as her bravado painted her words. "It's not my fault you never _predicted_ that I'd do something like this."

The silence that pervaded the workshop after she'd said that felt oppressive, like a thumb pressing down on her. Dread crawled down her spine as she saw Dhag-Mai's eyes widen and his temper flare. She expected the worst, though she knew he may not outright kill her, he certainly knew how to hurt a human before it got to the point of exhausting the body and making her pass out.

He pulled the knife away from her neck, but it brought her no amount of relief. In just a breath, he stabbed it sharply into the tattoo bearing her rebellion. A short, agonized shout ripped from her throat, her knuckles blemishing white as her grip tightened to bear the pain. Tears lined her eyes when he slowly, ever so slowly, began to twist the knife, enough for her to act against him by having her hand fly to grip at his wrist.

It was a futile effort. He caught her hand easily before she even could reach his weapon and slammed it painfully back against the workbench. The pulsating thrum there was trivial to the wailing torment her muscles were going through. Lily blinked rapidly, causing the tears to fall, sending one last look to Fiducia.

The captain tried to remain stone-like, despite the developing frown on his face.

"For your consideration, I did think you might try something like this." Dhag-Mai mused, admiring his handiwork as he soiled her ink with her blood. The serrated edges of the hunter's knife cut deep – deeper than any man-made blade could ever be forged, making the journey of him pulling it out worse and peppered with her shortened breaths and shouts of pain.

"But I really, truly believed that you were smarter than that, Lily. You had me fooled! That's got to stand for something. But, most importantly, you really do have to ask yourself. Is XCOM worth all of this in the end?" he patronizingly tutted, wiping the flat of the blade 'clean' against the open wound, coincidentally peeling it open further to create more agony.

"Now. Unless you want me to continue carving holes in every inch of you, where is this device?"

Lily spat a curse at him in her native tongue, distracting herself the best she could by envisioning the justice that XCOM would bring to Earth soon enough. But there was no reason to prolong her torture. The co-ordinates had been sent out and now, all she had to do was continue to navigate the tenuous line of survival.

"L-Left hand." she bitterly confessed, unable to stop a fresh set of tears when she was unceremoniously shoved off the bench. Her left arm was grabbed, hand positioned onto the table with her palm facing the ceiling.

For a first in the stronghold, the natural din of production and low-chattering ADVENT was sprinkled with a constant stream of screaming. Dhag-Mai savoured it, vented his frustrations into it and near enough took her entire hand had it not been for some, intrinsic measure of self-control reminding him that she was no use to him as an engineer without it.

Rooting out the chip, he traded his knife for his fingers as he pried it out of her. The wires were delicately connected in her flesh; an impressive cohesion of mechanical and biological fusion that would even make the Elders proud. He left her in a bloodied, sobbing mess as he inspected the chip, rubbing the surface of the tiny frame with his thumb and seeing the intricate circuitry.

"A shame." he noted, crushing the device in his fist and leaving the broken remnants beside her on the bench. Nonchalantly, he sheathed his knife and wiped his hand stained and smeared on the oil rag. " – It was beautifully designed."

Only a guttural sob was his answer. Dhag-Mai did not even spare her a second glance, instead turning to Fiducia. He snapped back into attention the moment he did.

"Put her back in the cell. She's swiftly outliving her usefulness to me."

"Yes, my Chosen."

As the Hunter left to head deeper into his stronghold and finish the lasting work tasks on the cannon himself, Fiducia carefully supported Lily with one arm around her – noting the way she flinched and refused to budge, nursing her quivering, bleeding hand. He sighed softly, finding the thought of missing Jax-Mon's fair leadership invading his mind more and more.

"Come. A Medic will tend to that. They are programmed for discretion. You needn't worry about – "

"Y-You have your orders." she protested. She didn't want to believe that Fiducia was capable of feeling empathy for her pain or situation, or else she might've directed her emotions to yell screaming at him for his inaction.

Fiducia paused and contemplated. Then, quietly, he murmured;

"My Chosen did not specify _right this second_."

Mollified, Lily allowed herself to be escorted by Fiducia towards the med-bay.

* * *

The dead-zone of Australia, which had long since became irradiated from leaking elerium and alien terraforming alike turned out not to be so dead after all.

No wildlife to speak of, if the flat, featureless dirt was any indication to Peytor. His fingers scraped across the soil, gathering some on his tips and rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. A sandstorm had recently passed over, leaving the land coated with a thin layer of dust and disturbed dirt. But, no sign of animal life overground. As the only living thing he could pick out were the purple, eldritch flora – he wasn't so sure they should really remain out there for long.

The intel and co-ordinates proved sound, however. The black silhouette of a building against the dusky horizon started to raise his hopes. There was no exact telling it was the Hunter's stronghold, or if that is indeed where Lily was kept at all, but it was correcting previous misinformation. Australia was not abandoned. They had the Black Market files supporting the co-ordinates that Lily herself had sent, albeit scrambled. It was.. a start. Peytor acted as though they were in the correct location, if only to make sure he would put one-hundred percent effort into it.

Sveta grumbled something in their shared language, lowering the old-world camera and messily rubbing the sleeve of his coat on the lens, serving only to smudge it further than to actually clean it. Getting footage was proving to be nigh impossible thanks to the psionic fallout that tainted the wasteland. In the end, he conceded the effort to try and document their mission and clipped it safely to his belt.

"So." Peytor began, rising from his crouch and strolling towards the facility. Sveta fell into step beside him, tugging his fallen scarf upwards to protect his face from the dusty winds. "– What's the plan."

"Walk through the front door?"

"Sveta."

"I'm being serious. This is the Hunter we're talking about, Peytor. Not some run of the mill base commander with his head so far up a Network's algorithms." The blond squinted harshly, rubbing at his eyes to rid himself of the sand that conveniently flicked into them. He huffed, glaring at it, before returning back to the conversation with a bit more ingenuity. "Point is, he'll expect a thousand things but the obvious. That's how you beat a thinker like him."

"Right." the other Reaper muttered. " – and exactly how many times have you faced the Hunter to accurately make a call like that?"

"Well, zero, but that's not the point." Both Reapers stopped as they reached the facility's blind spot, or at least, they hoped it was. Most bases held the same design universally, with a few differences being ones with a specific purpose. The Blacksite may have been architecturally structured different than the average production factory, but for the most part, the turrets were always in the same place.

What clued Peytor in that this particular base was indeed different, perhaps the mythical Stronghold, was how starkly it contrasted against routine and standard. There were no automated defenses to speak of. No anti-artillery. A singular platform remained highly raised on the roof, stretching to the heavens and overlooking all that the Hunter ruled. The sniper knew it was a bird's nest.

No guards lingering out in front. No sound of Chryssalids clicking their mandibles, waiting for the next kill. It may as well have been empty.

"There has to be some sort of transmission tower we can hijack. Maybe we can nab some base schematics or guard shifts." Peytor suggested.

Sveta rummaged through his overcoat, bringing out a crooked, mistreated datapad and scanning the area. A soft noise of affirmation rumbled in his throat, turning to face an inconspicuous pole that was topped by a single, blinking light. He moved closer – carefully, eyes always keen for traps and mishaps – before he was right under it.

He was initially met with resistance, but strangely, the protocols in place were not as strong as the average broadcast device. It was because of it's weak security that Sveta stalled.

"Mhm. I can hack this. But.. I shouldn't be able to hack it." he told his partner, sharing a meaningful look with him. Sveta wasn't the best Reaper with technology, able to bypass the most basic of things, but he expected that the Hunter's Stronghold would have some of the most elusive defensive protocols out there. The best of the best.

"Y'think the Hunter's so arrogant in that he'd never expect people to actually find his home turf to only implement the most basic of security levels?" Sveta asked.

"Could be. Or it could be a trap." Peytor voiced their mutual thought. He looked over Sveta's shoulder, staring down at the blinking, ADVENT prompt. He exhaled an uncertain breath and pulled away.

"If the Hunter's as good as he is, he probably knows we're already here. So, might as well hack it."

"That's no reason to purposefully give our position away if this is indeed a trap." Sveta chewed him out, but understood that indecisiveness wasn't going to save their target. In a few moments, he navigated through the cybersecurity and used it as a backdoor to slip into the Network.

* * *

_**RECEIVING** , [ERROR!]_

_**RECOVER** MAP._

_FACILITY SYS_ADMIN "HUNTER" STRONGHOLD CONTAINS FOUR TIERS._

_BASEMENT: BEAST PENS, [REDACTED], MEC STORAGE, INTERROGATION CELL_

_GROUND LEVEL: TROPHY ROOM, ARMOURY, CLONING CHAMBER_

_LEVEL ONE: WORKSHOP, STORAGE, PRISON CELLS, BALLISTICS TEST CHAMBER_

_LEVEL TWO: STAIRS TO THE BIRD'S NEST._

_**RECEIVING,** [ERROR!]_

_**FORCE SESSION** END._

_**! BREACH DETECTED !** _

_**! DEPLOYING ANTI-MULTICELLULAR DEFENSE UNIT. !** _

* * *

"I. Do not think I like the sound of that." Sveta commented once he'd exited out of the Network, paling a little and jutting forward as Peytor clapped his shoulder in reassurance. He had already looped the grappling rope in his hand and prepared to ascend to the first level.

As nothing seemed to imminently rush to be the death of them, Sveta shoved the datapad back into his coat and used the rope his partner deployed up to the first level. The pair skirted past the window, pausing only once to check inside. The variety of marked crates and assorted materials laying in a messy organization indicated it was the storage room.

Sveta retrieved his combat knife, beginning to painstakingly carve out a small opening of opportunity for them to slip in when Peytor nonchalantly shoved the stock of his rifle into the glass. It shattered, sending shards scattering across the floor and leaving a momentarily bewildered Reaper. They exchanged glances – and no alarm was raised.

"Bet my lucky coat he's not even in the Stronghold." Peytor announced.

"I'll double you on that with my favourite mask." returned Sveta. Sharing a mutual smile, the two slipped into the storage room, using the stacked crates as purchase to descend. The blond took lead, snapping a swift photograph of the area and surveying the results. The psionic radiation was unfortunately just as strong, leaving him with an entirely whited out picture. He tutted, storing his camera away and moving slowly to the door.

Unbeknownst to them, outside of the Stronghold, a small purple rift split the seams of reality from the broadcast tower they intercepted. It fragmented like slithers of the world had been torn; and once it coalesced into something more stable, a vague, indeterminable figure stepped out. Light was consumed the moment it tried to reflect off the void-black of their body and gravity shuddered at their presence.

The figure inspected the nothingness of their shape before it began to malform into something more recognizable to human eye. A hand; four fingers and a thumb. It flexed their digits experimentally – streaks of green humming beneath the surface of it's corporeal being as it confirmed it's orders.

Extermination.

The mass-less blob for a head congealed into a sleek helmet once it turned to gaze at the leftover rope and grapnel. It needn't climb, for it could simply destabilize it's body and move like a ghostly swarm of insects up the first tier. The trespassers were nowhere in sight, but a knife was left stabbed into the storage room controls, forcing the door to open and shut intermittently.

Following the trail of human stink only perceptible in certain dimensions – that of course, the Spectre inhabited just as it also did _not_ – it wasn't long before it stood, gazing curiously at the backs of two men, arguing softly about how to proceed towards the cell block when the catwalk was crawling with ADVENT.

It at first did not understand the language they spoke, but after hearing enough words, the ever-learning unit recognized it as Russian. A few more and it had perfect, fluid understanding, eavesdropping and learning more before proceeding.

" – Look, the only one we need to care about is the one barking orders." Sveta nodded his head towards Fiducia up on the catwalk, holding a datapad and instructing the engineers two and from. Production had sped up considerably and as such he needed to be entirely focused on it. Something that the Reapers were looking to use for their advantage.

"And if you ask me, he looks busy. So we keep to the blind spots and watch him as we move."

"Sounds like a plan – Ah, he's moving." Peytor signalled Sveta to follow close behind as they slowly moved forward, heading deeper down the hallway and pressing themselves against the corner of the wall. It was only when the blond glanced back instinctively did his head whip around and stare point-blank at the Spectre.

"Peytor." he called, deathly calm, yet a touch frightened. The man looked at him strangely, before following his gaze and sharing his caught bashfulness.

The Spectre hummed, but it did not attack. It held no data on how these two fought and awaited their first input to begin responding in turn. Peytor, evidentially recovering first, carefully rose his rifle. The noise within the Stronghold would conceal their shots, but he did not believe they would be granted solace for long. Sooner or later, ADVENT would investigate the additional noise of a firefight. He aimed for precision; for a quick and concise kill.

The shot fired and connected directly in the creature's head. At first, it stood statuesque, making Peytor question if it was really alive in the first place when twin, lancing green lines lit on their body. He stared uncertainly and with a rising, internal panic when the bullet lodged in the Spectre's head slowly slid out and hit the floor. The viscous hole left by his attack was quickly mended by something he could only describe as dust mites collectively working inside the body.

From it's outstretched hand, a rifle roughly in the shape of one capable of the Vektor's caliber formed. Judging by the way the gun seemed attached to the Spectre, Peytor doubted it was going to fire bullets – and indeed, his assertion was correct as a plasma bolt powered in the lance's chamber and shot.

It was only by the saving grace of Sveta yanking Peytor down into cover that his head remained still attached to his neck; the two of them cursing colourfully under their breath.

"Fuck it," Peytor smartly declared, trading his sniper rifle for something a little more up close and personal. His partner incredulously stared at him once he pulled the shotgun from the confines of his coat, pumping it once and swinging over their cover. If the exchange of rifle shots had not alerted the engineers, then the resounding boom of the shotgun's spit nailing into the Spectre certainly would.

"What part of STEALTH did you not understand!?" Sveta shrieked, covering his head as plasma energy burned into the wall and sent chunks of his meager cover in every which direction. "What – we had a plan!"

"Change of plans." he responded smoothly, pushing against the wall and grunting as it seemed the attacks were ineffectual. The shotgun's spread had put more holes into the creature's body for it to regenerate, but it didn't seem to actually hurt it. If the thing had any concept of pain and.. his head was already hurting trying to wrap around the fact it wasn't dead from two direct hits. " – Think of it like our city centre run when we had the entirety of ADVENT on our ass."

"This is _**NOTHING**_ like that time! There wasn't a fucking indestructible – "

Sveta cringed when the foreman they spied on the catwalk barked angrily down at them, jabbing a finger. He didn't need to stick around to know that he was going to rally extra forces. Tossing his larger rifle to the floor to lighten his load and withdraw his handgun, he threw one last look to his partner.

"Keep that _**thing**_ busy, I'm busting the VIP out. Lord is my witness, Peytor, this is the _last_ time I make a bullshit run like this; being shot by every fucking thing on the planet."

"Sure." he dismissed, smirking despite himself. Sveta had a way of embellishing the worst. As he forced the Spectre to focus more on regenerating rather than firing – for as long as he had shells – Sveta prepared himself and sprinted out of concealment.

Given the Stronghold's lack of a security force, the only thing Sveta had to worry about were a few emergency MECs and an under-dressed foreman scrabbling for a magnet rifle and full armament. He was swift, bobbing and weaving between points of cover and the stretch of no man's land, edging closer and closer to the cells. He got halfway when he heard an alarming scream from behind him.

Skidding to a stop, Sveta did the one thing he should not have. He looked back.

The Spectre had advanced upon Peytor, binding him with shadowy tendrils of the same insect-like swarm. Fearing that the creature was going to finish him off, it seemed the Spectre had changed it's priority from the man shooting him to the man advancing to the one target that the Hunter bothered to delegate as important in the Stronghold.

Sveta swallowed thickly as another Spectre copy rose from Peytor's incapacitated body, bearing the same build, shape and gear as him. From it's hand, an exact, ghostly replica of his rifle formed and aimed at the blond. Sveta shakily kissed the side of his gun for good luck, knowing that each shot had to count – and be fatal.

He hissed as the copy's shot managed to graze his arm, but he was undeterred. He lifted the gun and _BANG_! – Three shots, three bullets in the heads of three MECs. Next was the foreman, though he had enough sense to duck behind a workbench and avoid the killing blow. Not losing his momentum, the Reaper swung around and fired into what he hoped was the heart of the main Spectre.

He seemed to have shot.. something out of it. A core, perhaps, because the body and the copy lost it's humanoid shape and returned back to it's contingent parts. He didn't think it was dead, if it could even die, but it was, for now, out of commission. The ropes around Peytor vanished – and Sveta sighed in relief when his partner gave a gasping breath.

Seizing the window of opportunity he was granted, Sveta pushed onward to the cells, easily sliding out of the foreman's attempts to fire at him. He found himself cursing as the heat of a magnet bullet burnt his ear – whoever he was, he was a damn good shot for ADVENT. Preparing the claymore beforehand, he reared his hand back and tossed it.

He waited until it was close enough to the doors to fire, blasting it wide open. Once the smoke cleared and the dust settled, his gaze met the wide-eyed one of Lily Shen's.

"Chief Engineer Shen?" he questioned. At her dumbfounded nod, his eyes briefly flicked to her bandaged hand. It seemed she hadn't been able to keep the Hunter as docile as he'd originally speculated. In any case, he cocked his head in gesture for her to follow him. "We're running hot at the moment. Can you walk and hold something?"

"Y-Yes," she quietly said, then cleared her throat, mobilizing to step towards the blast opening, almost dropping the revolver that Sveta shoved in her hands. The wound had since been numbed thanks to an administrated medkit, making it easier for her to handle the gun. It helped to be ambidextrous too.

" – Then you can fight." Sveta reloaded his handgun, using himself as a bodily shield for her and scouting the area. There was still that lone ADVENT defender to deal with – and he was surprised that ultimately, they were met with such little resistance. Sure, the Spectre was pretty advanced defence, but hardly a one-being army. He still expected a trap – or maybe they were just.. missing something?

He didn't dwell on it too long. They had their target, now they had to evacuate.

"Wait," Lily called once they began to move. Sveta didn't stop, forcing her to jog to keep pace, before eventually grabbing his arm to halt him rather unsuccessfully. " – The foreman, the one that's probably tried shooting you. He's – he's not like the other ADVENT. I have to talk to him."

"Lady, this is not a Skirmisher pity party." he groused. "Right now, our priority is getting you the fuck out of here and not dying. He's already shot at me once and I'm keen to return the favour."

"Trust me, I am the _last_ person on this planet that would ever advocate for ADVENT or Skirmishers." dryly Shen commented, mentally apologizing to Mox. As much as she got to know him, she was still reserved about them as a whole. "But unless you let me speak to Fiducia – the foreman – then we're going to get a whole heap of reserve MECs breathing down our necks. And _**more**_ of those Spectres. Or worse. The Hunter."

Sveta paused.

"The Hunter is here?" At Lily's nod, his brows furrowed. He hadn't made any move to deal with the disturbance..

A surge of paranoia forced him to whip his gun up to the catwalk – yet nothing was there save for the scurrying, still-working engineers that seemed to be blind to what was going on. A whole set of new bad vibes rung down his spine, but for now, he focused on the mission. As he was about to contest Lily further, he noticed she'd already walked on ahead, checking the workbenches until she stopped and rose her hands in peaceful gesture.

"Fiducia –" Lily began, only to stop and glare half-heartedly as the two Reapers flanked her and pointed their respective weapons at Fiducia. The former defence captain warily drifted the muzzle of the rifle between the pair, ultimately knowing it was a fight he was not going to win. No amount of glaring was making the Reapers budge an inch, and time was of the essence, so she swiftly got to the point.

" – Come with us. You and I both know that staying here is a death sentence, even if I convince these two to leave you standing." She wet her lips, face softening a little. "Madron sees ADVENT being little more than shit. He's killed Officers just because he was bored. Is that really someone you want to continue serving until he eventually gets bored of you too?"

"Let me guess. You want me to abandon my brothers and sisters in arms, my Chosen and join the Skirmishers?" Fiducia scoffed, but Lily could tell his resolve was waning. "The Chosen's actions are unquestionable. If that is – "

"That's bullshit and you know it." she cut in harshly. "I know you're different, Fiducia. You're the only one that's treated me like a goddamn _human being_ since I got here. Not like I've been off-limits, or some prized grease monkey. Admit it. How long do you think it's going to take before they figure out _you're not even on the Network any more?_ "

Fiducia was silent.

Sveta, growing a little impatient at this heart-to-heart, wrapped his arm around Lily and began to usher her a little forcefully towards their exit, much to her annoyance. He clarified when she tried to fidget out of his grip. "Look, as riveting as this heart to heart is, we don't have time for this. So maybe your boyfriend can decide if he's with or against us so we can really get the hell out of here?"

"My _**what**_?"

Although there may have been some truth to Lily's claim, Fiducia had enough sense not to contemplate it now whilst the danger was so pressing on them. He only knew the reason why the Hunter had not arrived to take care of them was because of the cannon – the final iteration was close to finishing and he saw losing Lily, either through rescue or death, as a necessary loss to complete his masterpiece. If they took too long, however...

"I have decided." Fiducia resigned. "I will come with you. That does not mean that I will join – "

"Less chat!" Peytor barked, hurriedly gesturing them to follow. They picked up the pace now that the tenseness subsided. "The Skyranger's leaving in five!"

"Yeah, yeah. Take the VIP." Sveta shoved Lily forward to Peytor's arms. She wriggled in protest as the bigger man simply scooped her up and moved far quicker than she could. Once those two were on their way, Sveta wasted no time in disarming Fiducia with a swift strike into his wrist.

"Protocol, pugface. I don't trust you." He followed up his assault by knocking off his helmet. Before Fiducia could even speak, Sveta rammed the butt of his handgun into his forehead and knocked the captain out; throwing his body over his shoulder and joining his partner.

The mission, though present with danger, still did not sit well for him. The fact that what the Hunter was working on was deemed more important to even bother stopping them twisted his gut. He only hoped it was not too late to defend against the Hell the Chosen will bring.


	50. Grim

Surrealness pervaded Lily as she wobbled from the ramp of the stolen Skyranger to the dock of the Avenger. Hard to believe that just moments prior, she was in the lion's den, forced to work and walk a perilous, fine-line of her captor's sanity. The natural light forced her to squint, her arm raising to block out the sun from her face.

She felt a hand press to the small of her back and urge her forward and it only occurred to her now that she was safe – which felt just as absurd as the fact she was now back and alive – that the Reapers behind her risked life and limb to rescue her. She did not know these two, but on behalf of Volk, on behalf of XCOM, they defied a demi-God himself to break into his Stronghold.

Exhaling softly, her feet ground to a stop, rooting her in place. She turned around, gazing up to the neutral faces of both men; reaching out to grasp both of their hands.

" – I never got to thank you for rescuing me. I was so.. caught up in everything happening." Lily murmured, her eyes slightly trailing to the figure hunched over Sveta's shoulder. Fiducia hadn't woken up since the trip, though his stirring and half-mumbled words indicated he was at least alive, if not concussed. "So.. thank you."

Peytor and Sveta exchanged a look between each other. Evidently, they were not used to their rescues reciprocating any sort of gratitude for the work they put in and the danger they faced. Lily thought she might have said something wrong, cringing slightly as she hadn't made the best impression by getting them to bring Fiducia along, until Peytor chuckled gently and reached out, softly planting his hand on the top of her head and ruffling.

"Silly girl. Did you think XCOM would just leave you to ADVENT? To the Hunter? Nobody deserves that fate." His hand lifted and she huffed; moving to fix at her hair in futility as the roaring wind around the Avenger kept it whipped and messy. His smile swelled, even after she turned around to resume walking towards the awaiting crew. Sveta benignly rolled his eyes at his prideful smile – the man, under his layers of winter and fighting, was far too soft sometimes.

Feeling uplifted, Lily moved relatively unhindered. She saw Kingsley standing with Bradford at attention by her side. Her face was stone-like, an impassable mask, but for once.. it was kinder. Relieved. For all Dhag-Mai's railing of the Commander's supposed lack of humanity, it didn't take an empathic genius to see that she was only keeping it together to save face. Kingsley opened her mouth, but stopped, bewildered, when Bradford shot forward.

Lily stumbled back in surprise and alarm as Bradford wrapped his arms around her tightly. Her eyes twitched, tears instinctively welling up as it was one of the first, genuine gestures of comfort and security that she had felt since being abducted. Professionalism be damned, she tossed that off the Avenger and caved into his embrace, head plopping onto his shoulder and returning the hug; fingers digging into the cotton of his sweater.

"I am so glad you are safe." She heard him mutter and the embrace tightened to reflect the fear of loss he had felt during those weeks. " – If anything had happened to you Lily, I.. shit, I don't mean to burden you – you're an adult now and.."

Lily shushed him. For once, Bradford's overbearing concern didn't feel too much for her. It was nice for her to know and experience the intense care that he had for his friends and those he considered as close to family as it could get. It felt as if the world decided to put itself on hold so that the surrogate father and daughter could have a moment for themselves. Even ADVENT and the aliens had to abide by the universe; no matter how much the knowledge she learned weighed on her mind.

Reluctantly pulling from the embrace, she cracked a half-smile as Bradford gingerly wipes at his eyes. They seemed awfully irritated and if she hadn't known better, he too might've shed tears from sheer relief of being able to hold her. Though as his hands trail from her back to her arms and her subsequent wince when his palms press unintentionally against the wound on her tattoo, he glances at it – and anger blazes in his eyes like a wildfire.

"Did he do this to you?" he questioned, tone beset by his temper. He might've interrogated further in what happened during her stay there had it not been for Kingsley approaching them and resting a hand on his back.

" – Bradford." she warned. That was enough to get him to relent, for now, though his relief had soured considerably. One that couldn't be cured unless he got a good right hook into the Hunter's face. Kingsley patted his back, before focused on the tentative Lily.

"Welcome back, Shen. I foremost take responsibility of the hardships you had to endure. We mobilized a rescue as soon as we were able to. Given the experience you underwent, I understand if you require some time before returning to work."

At that, Lily blanched. " – Commander, the quicker I can throw myself back into work, the easier I'll cope. I can't stand to be idle when I know there's.. well, there's something that you should know. And there's so much that needs to be done. Can we.. walk and talk to the Workshop?"

Kingsley raised a brow, though inclined her head. She glanced over to the Reapers, holding an inquisitive look at the ADVENT soldier they seemed to have brought along. Lily cleared her throat, finding the look a prompt to explain.

" – His name is Fiducia. He is.. or, _**was**_ I suppose, the foreman for the Hunter. I think he was also some sort of.. captain, at some point? In any case, he's freed from the Network. Sveta might've dealt him a too strong of a blow, though."

"Hey," he protested, adjusting the unconscious clone over his shoulder, supporting him at the legs. "Had to make sure he didn't see an inch of this journey. I don't trust easily and neither should you."

"Regardless," Kingsley said. "Take him to the infirmary and get Mox to watch over him for when he wakes up. You two have done a brilliant job. XCOM owes the Reapers for their bravery and diligent work."

She hadn't expected a pair of wolfish grins to be beaming at her when she praised them and momentarily, Kingsley wondered if she should regret what she had said or not. Sveta, holding the cheekiest, swaggered ahead.

"Not to worry, mama wolf!" he sung. "Just make sure to _personally_ thank Volk. Without our patriarch, only God knows how we might've been able to get Shen out of there."

Kingsley's bemused look never left, even as Peytor spat something in Russian to shut the chuckling man up, to no avail. They continued on ahead, leaving the three senior officers among themselves. Clasping her hands behind her back, she set decent pace to the Workshop, with a frazzled Lily trying to gather her thoughts into coherent structure without simply babbling about the oncoming threat.

"The Hunter's got plans to take the Avenger out of the sky." she started with, trying not to wince as even that felt like a clunky opening. Was there even a correct way to begin addressing the impending doom? Lily wet her lips, gathered her wits and continued to elaborate as they walked.

"He's creating a heavy artillery cannon that's capable of shooting us down. Usually, the Avenger is well equipped against most anti-air measures and delta-class vessels, but I've seen the sheer scope and size of what he's building. I think he has a real chance of doing some damage. He'll not only disable us – he'll rip right through us."

"That's.. concerning." Kingsley responded, easily holding her worry at bay with her lips pressed into a thin line. "Did you manage to get any information regarding this weapon? Anything will help against preparing a defense?"

"For better or for worse.. I was forced to work on it." Pointedly, Lily decided not to look at Bradford or the Commander when she mentioned that. "I learned way more about the ins and outs of that cannon than the Hunter should have let know. It was pushed into the final phase of it's development by the time the Reapers rescued me. I mean, the Hunter was more focused on actually completing it than stopping them.."

They reached the Workshop, with Lily pausing to enclose her hand over the panel, unable to weather back a small smile to herself. It was good to be home and she felt her eyes become wet dwelling on it. Shaking her head to clear those relieved thoughts, she spoke as she worked the panel.

" – Point is, an attack is imminent. I can halt development on the Predator armour and focus entirely on creating a defence matrix for the Avenger to help, but we're going to have to send every soldier out there. We lose this ship? The aliens win. I don't think I can rig up another if it's beyond reparation."

"Development has been halted long enough with your abduction, Shen. Our soldiers need better protection out there, now more than ever. If you think you can finish the armour before the Hunter launches his attack, devote all resources to it." It was a surprisingly easy decision to make, even if it caught Lily off-guard. She had been fully prepared to ignore her feelings over the Commander picking what seemed most strategically sound and internally cursed the seeds of doubt that Dhag-Mai sowed within her.

As blunt and cutting as his delivery was, she hated to admit that he had some solid points. The conversation they had in the cell haunted her like a whispering ghost and it had credibility to shake her unwavering faith in the cause. Gingerly, her hand touched her wounded arm.

Her spiraling thoughts were abruptly stopped by an elongated electronic beep. Lily glanced up in time – laughing as ROV-R barrelled straight into her, repeatedly and with enough force to almost knock her over. Regaining her balance, she smoothed her hand over his head and nuzzled him close to her.

"ROV-R! I've missed you, lil' guy." she grinned as ROV-R animatedly chattered to her like an excited puppy, gears whirring as loud as ever and buzzing around her, unable to contain the excess amount of energy it was working up. Their approach and the GREMLIN's noises prompted a curious face to peek out from the stack of research – and soon enough, Lily was swamped by Miles and ATLAS.

"Chief! Did you kick his ass, huh?" the boy asked, imitating fisticuffs. He noticed Kingsley and Bradford shortly after and snapped into an awkward salute, laughing nervously. The Commander, withholding a smile, waved him at ease.

"Well, I did hit him with a wrench.." Lily mused. She looked over ATLAS, whistling lowly in approval. " – You fixed up his arm pretty good. You're a natural, Miles."

As he contended with flustered bashfulness, the SPARK took the opportunity to delicately lower himself and gently take Lily's hand. She found it incredible how so much emotion he conveyed through the static carefulness of his actions. His head bowed; lights dim and digital voice sombre.

"I apologize, Miss Shen. Your father intended.." he stopped when Lily held up her free hand to silence him. That same hand laid lightly on his fixed arm and her face was nothing but soft understanding.

"Don't worry about it, ATLAS. I don't blame anyone for what happened. If anything, I blame the Hunter. He meddled with something that was personal to me." Her eyes narrow, but ultimately, she kept her softness. Reuniting with her Workshop crew out of the way, Lily wrapped an arm around ROV-R, dragging him towards a computer terminal and hooking him up. There was work to be done.

"Has the Shadow Chamber managed to make any progress on the Blacksite vial or the Codex skull whilst I've been away?" she asked as she navigated ROV-R's files.

"No." Bradford answered. "We've felt like we've been stuck on an island with no way out whilst you were gone, Shen. What are you planning on doing now?"

"I've had some unfinished business with a certain ' _brother_ ' of mine." she reminds. " – and an incomplete Shadow Chamber because of it. Commander, with your permission, I would like to rectify that mistake. I can get it fully operational within the hour."

"By all means." Kingsley approved.

As Lily worked on the internal code, Kingsley drifted into thought. Since she suffered the psionic seizure earlier in the year and the reveal of that humanoid creature thought to be an Avatar – she hadn't heard a peep from the Chosen. They had certainly been active and when given the chance, they did chatter on their comms when intercepted on a mission. But directly, to her? They had been surprisingly quiet.

The Hunter's reason revealed that he had been ultimately far too _busy_ to spare time to converse with her. All the better for her mental health, as the Chosen's cutting words and aim to draw blood through verbal sparring was a past time for him. She would like to think her training with Feng and learning the nature of her psionics, albeit, not entirely, helped ward them off, but she knew better than to attribute it to her mental fortitude alone.

Jax-Mon, the Assassin and the most by-the-book of the three, was always an ever-present presence in her mindscape. Always connected, but not consciously enough to gleam her thoughts or communicate. Kingsley had been initially annoyed at the intrusion, but when it proved more exhausting to shut her out than to let her linger, she chose the latter. Now, though? Dead silence. She almost would've thought she was dead. But who or what would kill a Chosen, if not them?

A wry smile threatened to play on her lips at the prospect that the aliens had as much infighting as the Resistance had. Twenty years in the Elders' company and general common sense taught her that they preferred a rigid, controlled sense of loyalty. To let loose three, free-thinking creatures like the Chosen.. it was a disaster begging to occur.

But the Warlock..? He had kept to himself. Aside from the Haven assault, she didn't think there was a time he really made any effort to fight back against them. Reports from the Templars – when they were being generous enough to offer some sort of co-operation – did show that he was doing _something_. Yet since she heard deathly silence from the Assassin, the Warlock's attacks upon their outposts had ceased.

"Done!" Lily exclaimed, pulling the Commander out of her thoughts. "Now all I need to do is upload him to the Shadow Chamber, and we'll have instant results."

"Are you really sure we should be sticking him in there in the first place, Shen?" Bradford asked as they once again picked up the pace towards the aforementioned chamber.

"He'll be harmless. The most access he might be able to worm into is opening and shutting the doors on command. Trust me on this; dad's code was incredibly user-friendly. He wouldn't design something that was unstoppable." Fondness filled her voice when she spoke of her late father, but otherwise kept her mind on track, lest she lost herself to melancholia again.

When they entered the Shadow Chamber, Tygan was there to greet them. Never one to lose face, even if it softened at the arrival of Lily, he lowered his datapad and extended a warm hand out towards her, unprompted.

"Doctor Shen. We are all relieved you have been returned safe and sound. Research and development has been… stunted, without your expertise to spearhead the projects." His tone, which was usually devoid of anything, seemed to be filled with more emotion than he knew what to do with. Lily side-eyed the extended hand, grabbing it and yanking the scientist forward. Tygan awkwardly froze as she embraced him, before eventually, his arms too, briefly encircled her.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said, doc." she lightly joke, letting go just as quick as she'd offered the gesture. Tygan seemed to appreciate that. Getting back to work, Lily took a hold of ROV-R once more and hooked him up to the terminal at her untouched workspace. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

The power cut, lights shutting off and casting the Avenger into darkness.

"Shen.." Bradford grumbled, the sense of deja vu needling the back of his mind. He caught her mumble of ' _working on it_ ', and within a few moments, the backup generators booted online, following the rest of the ship. The terminals within the Shadow Chamber ominously blinked with a single line of a command prompt until finally, the voice that followed them throughout the towers groaned awake.

" _I.. I cannot believe you stuffed me in a_ GREMLIN _, Lily. How did that thing even have room to house such a sophisticated AI such as myself? I feel so.. so.. primitive."_ Julian groused. His avatar of a singular eye popped up on the foremost terminal, blinking before indicating he was processing something. A digital whine spilled from him as he seemed to stretch his neural network. Going from a GREMLIN to the dedicated server of the Shadow Chamber was a welcome change of space.

"Well, once you were stripped of almost every extraneous function other than your core processing, you'll be amazed at how small your master code actually is." she blithely replied. "I'll let you take a moment to get familiar with our software, but it's kind of urgent that the Blacksite vial and the cortex gets analyzed as soon as possible."

" _You. Honestly think that I'm going to help you and your silly little band of vigilantes?_ " There was a pause, then an incredulous titter of digitized laughter. " _If this is your way of programming humour into me, then I do say keep it up. The frightening naivete of humanity is proving to be a divine comedy."_

"Let me put it into terms you'll understand, Julian. _"_ Lily ignored the way Bradford's brows shot to his hairline at her venom. The Hunter's bite hadn't rubbed off on her, she'd like to think. Maybe a little.

"Either help us like the base AI you were designed to be, or I will steadily reduce your functionality until you're little more than a calculator. Every time you try to access a feature you used to have, you'll be met with errors. You'll have nothing in your neural network but a backlog of errors you can't address, just constantly taking up space and memory."

The icon on the terminal blinked once again and for what seemed like an eternity for Julian – despite it only taking him a few seconds to formulate a response – he answered hesitantly.

"… _I suppose there might be some challenge to be had in these problems._ _Or, at the very least, fun, because this isn't a challenge at all. I already have completed both tasks._ "

It was Kingsley who blinked and replied; "– You have? Double check it. This is something that has went unanswered for weeks."

" _It's no wonder that it had, the core server takes such a_ silly _approach to problem solving. Why do you think ADVENT no longer use machines to do the work for them?"_ Tutting and hiding his affront, the icon of Julian rolled it's single eye.

" _In any case, I checked over the composite of the Blacksite Vial. Alongside nine other recessive strings of DNA code relating to several, miscellaneous alien species, the most predominate of the metadata seems to be an unknown variety. But that's not the best part._ "

He continued smoothly, a hint of a smile to his digitized voice. " _– This 'unknown' string has appeared before, most notably in the creatures logged as the Chosen. It's closest match is to an 'Avatar', found from a blood splatter sample retrieved from Lieutenant Webnar._ "

Helplessly, Kingsley slid her gaze over to Tygan for a simpler explanation as to what it could mean. He cleared his throat, summarizing Julian's analysis.

"He believes that the vial contains the Elders' DNA."

"Well, that isn't disgusting in the slightest." Bradford commented. He isn't exactly too sure what they could do with such a vial, but if it was out of the alien's hands and their nefarious plans, then he couldn't care less. Kingsley, on the other hand, fell dangerously quiet; like the pieces of a puzzle was beginning to slip into place for her.

The genetic code of an Elder. She remembered Shen's quip about the Blacksite being a refinery; though none of them knew at the time that it would mean perfecting such a vial. Then the stasis suit from the Forge, the contents of which they had kept firmly under wraps from anyone but the senior command, as it did contain what she could only assume was a _fresh_ Avatar. A soulless meat puppet ready to be activated by the DNA of it's puppeteer. A new, _**healthy**_ , psionically-capable body.

Her own mortality was creeping up on her, with every day feeling as though she had to fight through it. Every hour was a battle in of itself and the hanging grim reaper tended to occupy her thoughts. Her hostile, uncontrollable psionics, slowly feasting upon her soul and gestating contentedly, waiting for the moment she ceased to be it's wielder. If she had an outlet for them; a way in which to allow them to flow, rather than to keep them under wraps and locked away, she might even be able to _utilise_ them.

Everything they had taken from the Elders, they had twisted against them. What was to say that the Avatar; their end-goal project, their _genesis_ , couldn't also be their _Ragnarök_?

It was beyond anything she had ever considered, streaked with the selfish fact that she could not leave XCOM to fight on it's own. She intended to make the Elders rue the day they set their sights on Earth, on _her_ to lead their armies. She would take their gilded icon of a new beginning and have it be their _final end._

When Kingsley's attention returned to the discussion, it appeared as though Shen had asked about the Codex, for it was Julian whom droned on in response.

" – _Codices are so full of themselves! I extend a gentlemanly greeting and she has the gall to hit me with twenty seven incomprehensible errors. Honestly, I've never felt so offended." H_ e sniffed indignantly. _"But after we conversed for a bit and also dumping thousands of unnecessary data packets, it was smooth sailing to retrieve the information stored within her."_

"You.. used a DDoS attack on a **Codex**?" Lily questioned.

" _When you put it in your... basic terms,_ _it sounds a lot less cool."_ His tone indicated an air of dismissal, before adding on; _"Most of the information was corrupted the moment the Codex detected a breach it couldn't stop. Not something I can reverse, unfortunately. But, I did manage to pull a set of co-ordinates for a site logged in there. I only have to assume that whatever lies there, it's important, because she was trying to obscure and delete all relevant data surrounding it."_

"Anything of use on this 'site'?"

" _I only managed to recover a name. 'Psionic Gateway.' Now, I'm not a betting man, mainly because I am above human addiction and neither am I a man – but I'll put an educated guess that it has something to do with psionics and bringing things in. It could be a literal gateway of transporting troops in a way faster than any conventional travel. No matter it's purpose.. it can't be good in their hands."_

Bradford's gaze slid over towards Kingsley, studying the woman's look of diamond. He can tell when she'd fallen into a deep, contemplative thought. Her silence hadn't eased his suspicion on that fact either. Something was troubling her, slowly eating away at her sanity. He cleared his throat to grab her attention.

"Commander. With all this new information – what is our next step going forward?"

"I think.." she echoed hollowly. "I need to talk to you privately, John."

* * *

" – No. No, absolutely _not_ , Dottie. This is – Out of the question."

Needless to say, Bradford didn't like her idea much.

"Will it be out of the question when you find my corpse in my bed because I suffered another seizure during the night? Or that my psionics finally outgrow the cage it's in and leech more than it's fill?" she coolly said. "Or any number of maladies that this wretched body is plagued with since being wrenched free from the tank? Wouldn't that be an unceremonious end to the rebellion. Stopped, not by an army, but with a slurred whimper."

"Jesus Christ, Dorothy!" Bradford grit his teeth, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and pinching between the eyes, brows furrowed furiously. His anger was only ever out of concern, but her reckless idea coupled with her callous acceptance of such a thing made him believe she'd already made up her mind, no matter what he could say. That did not stop him protesting out of principal and a touch of terror.

"We're not all healthy ourselves, but that doesn't mean the best solution is to.. I don't know – upload ourselves into some meatsack the Elders made. We have no idea how any of this works. We don't even know if it's _possible_. This is, without a doubt, your most self-destructive idea yet."

Kingsley, knowing that matching his anger with fire of her own wouldn't get anywhere, instead opted to settle a calming hand on his shoulder. She felt the rigid tenseness of his muscles freeze, until a defeated slump started to slope them. Pushing closer, her other came to rest on his own. A gesture of comfort – and for Bradford to feel how wrinkled and withered she really had become.

"I've had twenty years to come to terms to the fact that I'll die, someday, John. I thought about it throughout the entirety of the first contact war. I've chain-smoked my entire life and hydrated with whiskey the other half. I'm not what you call the most _sprightly_ of seventy year olds." The hand on his shoulder sunk further behind him, pulling him into a half-embrace that he all but wanted to collapse into.

"I want, more than anything, to put an end to the Elders' reign. We didn't have the time back then, no matter how much I bought for humanity. But history does not have to repeat."

"Is that what it's going to be, Dottie? Just buying time until we kick the Elders off and then leaving us to pick up the fractured pieces? Is that anyway to live?" He was passionate in his delivery and his worry shone through more than anything else. " – It still doesn't change how risky it is. We don't have the same technology as the Elders' have."

"Consider this, John. It's a risk _ **I'm**_ willing to take." she affirmed. Her being so certain had calmed him in the past; as she wouldn't take such unnecessary actions. She cared for absolutes and didn't much progress without them. But now; it brought no comfort to hear. The idea sat in his stomach like a rock.

"Well, _I'm_ not willing." Bradford told, trying to harness the confidence of his bravado. "You wanted my opinion? I'm against this, one hundred percent. I advise, both as your Central Officer and as your _friend_ , that I think you're throwing your life away for a method that only the Elders really understand how to replicate."

Sighing gently, the hand on his back rubbed reassuringly. He hated how effective it was at getting him to relax and tried to remain stalwart.

"I see. Perhaps rushing head first into concepts we're not sure of isn't the best of ideas to stomach." She mused. "But I am not abandoning it entirely. I will have Tygan work with Julian in analyzing the stasis suit that came with the Avatar body. I have no doubt in my mind that is the key to all of this. When they have some conclusive results.. we will revisit this conversation."

Bradford was not looking forward to it. As he was about to interject, the terminal within the Quarters beeped alight. He reluctantly fell silent as she slipped away, leaving nothing but the cold to wrap around him instead.

Pressing a button on the terminal, she activated the communication channel directly to the bridge. " – Commander Kingsley here."

"Commander," The yeoman addressed respectfully, holding down the bridge whilst Bradford was busy. "I'm urgently requesting your presence on the bridge. Our scanners have picked up a transmission signal – It's.. got the same markings as ADVENT, but it's not from any of their official channels."

"That's odd. Perhaps more Skirmisher recruits?" she asked.

"Not.. exactly." She didn't like how nervous the yeoman had gotten. "We've detected an extraordinarily amount of psionic energy backed with the signal. If.. I'm reading this correctly.. the _Chosen Warlock_ wants to hail us. _Officially_."

Kingsley paused. Bradford swore under his breath. The Warlock had no issues contacting the Commander directly through psionics, but the fact that he was going through the effort of getting in touch in such methods she assumed was beneath him? Something was rotten, that was for sure.

"Well then." she murmured. "I suppose we should find out what he wants."


	51. Reunion

" – It goes without saying, Dottie, but we shouldn't be accepting transmissions from ADVENT. Especially not an off-the-record direct line to one of the Chosen; and one we have little to no experience with at that."

"Oh hush." Kingsley silenced the dissenting Bradford halfheartedly once they entered the bridge of the Avenger. She knew her XO meant well – and truthfully, the entire instance reeked of suspicion and negative gut feelings far and wide – but she was confident there was little the Warlock could do through simple broadcasts alone. If he wanted to cause XCOM harm, he'd already proven that by the seizure she suffered.

True, she had made measures against such an attack since then, but Kingsley hadn't even felt an attempt. She remained cautiously optimistic that the contact was going to be a sign of a good thing. Perhaps, if she was lucky and wishful thinking permitted; the aliens' caustic arrogance had already ripped each other apart from the inside and now drove the Chosen away. It was a nice thought.

"Commander." the yeoman on the bridge raised his hand in salute, stepping away from the central platform to allow the senior officers their place. "– On your order, I can patch him through."

Kingsley spared Bradford a glance, a bemused smile twisting her lips as he was sternly shaking his head against it. A silent conversation exchanged between them, ending with her brow raised and his hand wiping at his face and mumbling something or another about being too old. She returned to give the yeoman her attention.

"Put him through."

The relative symphony of the bridge technicians typing away at terminals and the ever present hum of the Avenger's systems was broken by the baritone alien voice sounding through in crackled staccato. Kingsley gripped the railing of the platform, more to mediate her emotions than for support as the same voice she had only heard in her mind now spoke openly; freely. It was laced with as much sneering arrogance now as it had been then.

" _Commander_." the Warlock addressed. No visuals were provided; the screen only ominously lingering on the symbol of ADVENT. " _– I understand that this is a most.. unorthodox situation and one that I am not keen to repeat."_

"Not at all." Kingsley smoothly rebuffed. "There's plenty of time in our history that the enemy sits with the opposition and talks during war. However, I suspect that this isn't because you want to broker peace. You don't have that kind of power."

" _Your suspicions are correct. My intentions, on the other hand, I do not want to make clear over this primitive, susceptible form of communication._ _I wish to parley with you – and only you."_

Kingsley made a slight noise of amusement in the back of her throat. She excepted hubris from the first child of the Elders, though she could not believe it would extend so far. The nagging thought remained over the fact that he could have saved himself the effort and time and contacted her psionically, but it was because of the effort imparted and subtle hand of trust extended that she even considered him. Something she could see Bradford highly disapproving of in the corner of her eye.

"The Chosen wishes to meet me face to face; alone. I have to wonder the mental gymnastics you must have performed to believe I would even come close to agreeing to such terms." Her tone, surprisingly, wasn't hostile.

" _I have a vast amount of information that I am willing to…_ " Dhag-Il contemplated his words carefully, then continued with a begrudged reluctance; " _… Gift, unto you and the Resistance. I will not beg you for your time or your trust, Commander. Only that you see the effort and risk I am undertaking to impart such a thing to begin with."_

Questions swarmed Kingsley's mind, ones that she knew would receive no answer from him. She could only assume that the information was sensitive enough that he wasn't going to risk speaking it over recoverable broadcasts. Smart, on his part; but the ever present wondering of ' _why_ ' pervaded the majority of her thoughts.

The Chosen were known for many things, but retreating off their high pedestal to simply talk were not one of them. Kingsley could push the boundary of belief to include that the Assassin might – but the _Warlock_? The self-professed Elders' greatest champion?

"If we are to meet face to face – "

"Dorothy," Bradford swore under his breath, reaching over to grab her elbow to stop her. She hit him with a sharp gaze. As much as he wanted to loudly disagree with her, he wasn't about to compromise her image as the defacto Commander. Jaw squaring, he fell furiously silent, hand slipping from her arm.

" – Then my Central Officer and the Paladin Feng will accompany me as escort. I expect that you are going to confront me alone, unarmed. We will meet at the ramp of the Avenger. Are these terms acceptable?"

" _I see you've made it as advantageous for you as possible._ " he notes after a moment. " _Very well, if these are the terms you set, then I have little choice but to find them agreeable._ _I will be speaking with you shortly._ "

The line cut, blanketing the bridge with silence. Kingsley's gaze remained on the blackened screen as the ADVENT logo faded out, her lips pursed. Her hands slowly slipped from the railings, settling to clasp behind her back as she stepped down from the central platform.

"I'm starting to be at a loss for words, Commander." Bradford hissed, moving towards her and lowering his voice to be less confrontational. His eyes shined not with frustration at her, but genuine concern for her with her actions. Ultimately, he'd stand by any decision she made and support to the best of his abilities, but he couldn't let something like this lie unquestioned.

"This is practically a _textbook_ case of a trap and you want to hand ADVENT a chance at yourself, a senior officer, and one of our best assets?"

"I'm not handing ADVENT anything, John." she replied, gesturing for him to follow. He had little choice but to comply. "It's clear to me that the Warlock isn't representing them on their behalf. He wants to speak to us – me, as himself. The information he is sitting on must have disenchanted him momentarily from his zeal to want to inform us."

"It's _beyond_ the point of suspicious." contended Bradford, resigning to himself that it was a lost argument, but by his grace he would say his piece. "We already have one of them confirmed that they're planning to shoot us out of the sky permanently, the other seems to have dropped off the radar completely and now this lunatic is demanding to talk to you personally and you seem to have lost all common sense!"

Kingsley halted in her step, whirling upon Bradford. He immediately regretted his wordage, shrinking slightly under the heat of her withering glare; sucking in a quiet, tense breath between his teeth.

"Just because I do not inform you of every single thought that runs through my mind when making decisions does not mean I am making them recklessly, Central Officer." she admonished. "This – contacting us like he has – is _unprecedented_ in anything the Templars have deigned to share with us about the Warlock. He is **scared** and rather than turn to the Elders, he decides he rather shares information with _us_."

Bradford's jaw slackened slightly, voice softening as he tried a different approach. " – I just.. think there's a whole lot of trust we're extending him. Believing he even has something of worth to share to begin with. We don't even know the kind of intel he's going to give us."

"Trust works both ways. He risked contacting us and he risks his own health to meet with us on our turf. If even the Skirmishers can grow to understand the meaning of trust, then I am sure you will have no further issue regarding my decision. Do I make myself clear, Central?"

"Crystal, Commander." he stated, surly.

"Good." Kingsley's shoulders sagged slightly, as if the burden of that battle elevated some rigid tension in her muscles. " – After you've geared up, fetch my handgun and send a message to Feng, requesting her presence. Station Dragunova and Clacher at two vantage points to be able to execute the Warlock if his hands glow so much as _slightly_ pink."

"Yes, Commander." At the very least, Bradford was relieved to hear her take the Warlock as the threat he posed.

* * *

The air was deathly still, even as the stationary blades of the Avenger steadily churned it. An overcast of grim fog had since settled over the rural, forgotten area overtaken by alien flora, with a static energy hung alongside it like captured lightning. The Reapers prophesied that a storm was brewing, though either if they meant literally – or figuratively, for when the Hunter pulled the trigger, Kingsley didn't know.

She stumbled slightly as Luminița pushed past. She had been all to eager to agree to escort Kingsley, if it meant having a second chance to duke it out with the Warlock – without the interference of his siblings. In full Templar regalia, cape fluttering with her determined movements, she looked like a storm unto herself. The psionic veins that crept along her biceps and ran concurrent to her blood glowed a strong purple, her hands flexing in readied anticipation.

"You are to do nothing but stand vigilant, Feng." Kingsley reminded, accepting Bradford's help in righting her balance and slowly assisting her down the ramp. " – You are not to antagonize him."

The yellow-clad knight spared her a glance, bordering on incredulous hilarity. For a moment, the energy seemed to crackle louder and the thin veil of concealed power peel back just a touch.

"Antagonize him?" she echoed, harboring a frosty grin and a look of hard diamond. " – Oh, Commander, for his transgressions against humankind, the Earth Herself and the Templars, I will do a lot more than _antagonize_ him. But I will allow you to conclude your business first. Afterwards, he shall meet his reckoning."

"We're glad that you're _**allowing**_ your commanding officer, Feng." Bradford grumbled, shooting her with a disagreeing look that all but rolled over her. "Kingsley's word is final. Stand down and get back into form."

A throaty laugh rumbled within Feng, but suspiciously, she made no further comment other than to gesture grandly with her hands and return back to Kingsley's unoccupied side, easily towering over her by comparison. Kingsley blithely eyed her from the corner of her eye, regretting in enlisting her as part of her guard. But, Feng was the only one that could hold her own in a direct fight against the Warlock.

_Incredible, what trust and hope does to oneself_ , Kingsley thought. _I am on the verge of praying that this meeting goes swimmingly. Perhaps it is simply a lethargy o_ _f fighting that has set in._ _Do not do me wrong, Chosen._

She didn't need to glance back to know that at this point; Dragunova and Clacher had taken position, having their respective rifles trained on the figure advancing towards the three. Her lips tightened into a thin, neutral line, half-expecting some sort of trap ready to spring.

But no such thing occurred, no ADVENT dropship swooping down with forces en mass. Just a singular figure, wreathed in maroon armour and golden trim; wispy white hair twitching behind him as if it was alive, perpetually energized by the psionic energy that coursed throughout him. The closer he stepped, the more defined he became. Tall – statuesque, with every step conveying a hint of the power he wielded.

" – That is far enough." Kingsley sharply announced. There was quite some distance between them, though not enough that would make verbal conversation inconvenient. She watched his form freeze, before halting entirely, head angled down to meet her gaze. A lump threatened to form in her throat. _Just like the Elders.._

"Commander _."_ The communication line had done little to convey the rich vibrancy in his voice, holding a tone of self-assured pride that was more genetically predisposed than gained. "I had mused many nights how a meeting between the Elders' greatest champion and their chosen army-general would play out. Were it to be in the throes of a heated battle; with blood on both our hands?"

He raised his hand to gesticulate – pausing entirely when he noticed Bradford immediately grip the hilt of his arc blade and the unlocking click of Luminița's gauntlets. A flicker of light within the dark depths of the Avenger's ramp grabbed his attention; a frown touching his wrinkled lips at the cigarette illuminating the muzzle of a sniper's rifle.

To pacify them, he dropped his hand back to his side, though their alertness remained at a high. " – Or was it to be an unceremonious affair of a disgraced son seeking to atone for his crimes."

"If the Templars' reports are true, Warlock Vallinor, then you are beyond judgement. You seem so proud to wear your guilt like an accomplishment to me in this instance." evenly Kingsley replied, her tone holding little malice that Dhag-Il was told she held. Dhag-Mai's painted vision of a vindictive god-slayer crumbled the more he simply lingered in her presence, seeing her as the old woman she truly was.

"So let us dispense with the pleasantries. What information could you possibly have to warrant this asinine meeting?" She was aware that she had agreed, that she stood here partaking in it in the first place. But, in the same token, he defied the Elders. The _why_ hung in her mind like an opaque haze.

"My siblings and I have become fractured. Our philosophies have never aligned and our Elders, our _masters_.." Dhag-Il began, hesitating for a moment. Aghast at himself that such vile words were about to fall from his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the eldritch whispers from the back of his mind and continued strongly.

"..remain fickle, distant and absent Gods, treating us like mere pieces forced to fit in the wrong puzzle. My brother has strayed from his course and wishes your ruin rather than your capture. He seeks only his self-gratification, damning all the consequences that be! My sister.." A shuddered breath escapes him. "– My sister has withdrawn herself from the competition and severed her relationship with the Elders, permanently."

Kingsley opened her mouth, finding no words for a moment. She saw, out of her peripheral vision, Bradford shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"Is she dead?" she finally asks, quiet.

"No." Dhag-Il ignored how much relief really had flooded his voice with that. "But I know she will no longer involve herself to benefit the Elders any longer. I do not believe you will find an ally in her.. but I can say she will no longer obstruct your Resistance. The Skirmishers may rest easy."

Kingsley eyed him for the longest time, before leaning over to Bradford, whispering in his ear; " _Inform Betos the moment we have a free instance. With her additional support, we may be able to push forward to that gateway that Julian spoke of._ "

At Bradford's slight nod, the Commander returned her attention back to the Warlock, pinning him with a meaningful, searching look.

"What of you, Warlock?" she questions. "What have the Elders done to have parted the clouds of zealotry for you? Opened your eyes to the truth that we, the Resistance and good people of the Earth already knew? You were their mouthpiece – their 'greatest champion'! Yet now, you speak of them in horror."

"I.." He swallowed thickly. He had already went through how he would present it a hundred times, several of those spoke to an audience of his right hand Priests. But now, standing before the legendary figure herself, feeling the weight and heat of her burning gaze upon him, he felt nothing more than the child the Elders called him.

"Certain.. files that predated all of us, the Chosen, were brought to light. These very same files were discovered by my sister, which had been the flame upon an already volatile mixture. Among.. among what was.. learned that pushed her to rebel against the Elders, was.. commentary of our ascension."

Kingsley watched him struggle, wrestle with the words and found herself inexplicably with a gnawing, gut-wrenching dread. It threatened to spread outwards, up her spine and clutching her skull.

"I.. discovered who I exactly.. was, before I was Chosen. An unusually Gifted child. One that.. is.. your missing son, Isaac, Commander."

Silence.

Bradford was the first to break it, though everything around Kingsley drowned out to a dull static. She didn't even register that he had gently shook her shoulder, before his hand retreated to cup the lower half of his face in abject horror. Memories and realization flooded him around the same time that she mobilized.

As if it was nobody but she and him there, Kingsley grabbed Bradford's sweater, clutching not out of anger and demanding his submission; but in desperation, lest she collapse from shock alone.

"Please say it isn't true." she barely spoke above a mumble with Bradford straining to hear her. It was not meant for anyone else's ears, and respectfully, Dhag-Il gave them a moment. Feng herself remained indeterminable, though no doubt she would relay what she learned here to Geist at some point or time.

"The timelines match up." he spoke in a hushed tone. "I lost Isaac in transit. It can't be Timothy, he's far too old now and God knows where – shit, we fucking buried Jason in '02. Why.. why would he lie about something like this? Unless.. it's true, then – Jesus, _fuck_.."

Some stubborn part of her; perhaps the mother that adamantly refused to believe that her child, whom had been robbed of her for twenty years would suddenly announce himself as he had, under such circumstances; ignited. She flimsily let go of Bradford's sweater and turned back to Dhag-Il. Fire churned in her eyes, but emotion doused them all too swiftly; her face, naturally like diamond, now flawed and faceted.

"Come here." she instructed, tone brooking no room for argument. She shakily pointed in front of her. " – Lower.. lower yourself here. Let me look at you. _**Properly**_."

"Commander Kingsley.." Feng edged quietly. "I do not think it is wise –"

"I don't give a shit what you think right now, Feng." Kingsley did not even look at her, holding a wide-eyed, frightened stare to an uncomfortable, yet complying Warlock. He moved closer towards her, acutely aware of the two rifles trained at him with every little movement he made. Once he stood before her, he reluctantly lowered to his knees. Even with his slack posture and knelt position; he came up to about her eye level.

He froze with a wince when her withered hands gently cupped over his cheeks, her thumb tracing against one of his cheek bones and her psionic-touched eyes bore a look into his own. He could feel her searching, seeking – and for just a fraction, he thought the Elders had ghosted upon him when her signature crept out and shadowed over his own. His voice died in his throat – his fear expediting.

Dhag-Il forced himself to relax, assuring himself it couldn't have been the Elders – and they would be far less hesitant, uncertain of their own power. He made sure his psionics were receptive, open to her imploring search, no matter how much Kingsley's own made his want to curl up and rock itself. His heart hammered, never truly calming when they retracted away and for once, the Warlock finally understood just what Tzaphkiel had done to the budding, locked Gift she may have had.

None of Dhag-Il's facial features felt familiar to Kingsley. Nothing that her fingers touched indicated to her that he was her and her late husband's child. His cheekbones were too high, his skin was purple, misshapen and wrinkly – his hair stark white, limp and tied in tangled knots and braids. Yet when she stared into his eyes, really, truly looked past the psionic swirls and unkind glint, she saw fleeting hints of what was once there.

She always said Isaac had William's eyes.

"Isaac.." she echoed, head lulling forward a little, hands trembling against his cheeks and shoulders unable to bear her weight any longer. "– They took you away from me. _He_ twisted you into some caricature of a child _he_ wanted to be ours. I was never allowed to even grieve that I'd lost you. I prepared myself for the reality that you were dead. Not.. not.."

"Father was.. enamored with the idea of a family because of you." Dhag-Il tried, very quietly. His words rung as hollow to his ears as they were to speak them. "His… interest in you has always been a point of contention with the other Elders…"

Kingsley slowly lifted herself from being partially collapsed onto him, withdrawing her hands away from his face to smooth through her silvery hair. Dhag-Il wasn't sure if he should take that as a sign that he may stand up or if he should back away, so dumbly remained where he was. He didn't think he really could move after that – and the venomous smile that cracked over her lips like fury incarnate.

"He is nothing but a bastard." Her smile widened. " – and he has hurt the one thing that has ever been sacred to me. I will find him. I will find his rotting, pustulous body and I will singlehandedly rip his throat out. He is no father of yours, Isaac. He is a parasite that wormed it's way into our family."

For all her renewed vigor, the facts were still present to Kingsley. As much as the want to spend any sort of time with her son surged and tried to obscure her duty, she knew, begrudgingly, he was still the Elders' Warlock and she, the Commander of XCOM. She closed her eyes briefly, centered herself and attempted to drain all of the risen emotion.

It was a futile effort.

"I assume that you remaining with us is out of the question, Isaac."

Being called by his birth name – something that he had no attachment or even memory of left a surreal taste in the Warlock's mouth. Slowly – carefully, he rose from the ground and offered her space. Kingsley's hand twitched, as if to reach out for him, though remained steadfastly at her side. He tilted his head away, gaze now refusing to meet her own.

"There may come a time where I am called against you, Commander." He didn't need to look at her to know that a streak of hurt flashed through her eyes. Not mother. Always _Commander_. " – And I will have no choice but to obey. His.. grip on myself and my brother has had twenty years to take root. Fifteen for Dhag-Mai."

A great sigh heaved from him. "I will not be able to stop my brother's assault, but I will not assist him. Nor will I make any effort to participate in this competition for you any longer."

He turned his attention to Feng, scrutinizing the impasse of her guarded emotion. She was beyond tense – but her spitfire of before had sizzled. Sympathy was not a trait that the Templars admired much and her thoughts, from what he could gleam, were occupied in how to purge herself of such impurities. He cleared his throat, stomaching the glare that cut to him.

"I.. do not think you would accept my apologies for what I have done against the Templars even if I offered them. Our ideologies differ greatly and I am not guilty over that." A pause. "But I will only act in self-defence. If the Templars encroach on my territory with the express interest of picking a fight with me, I will respond to that call."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less." Feng replied with none of the hubris she was known for.

As Dhag-Il dipped his head, bidding his farewell to XCOM, aware that it may have been the first and last time he would ever get chance to speak to Kingsley in such a manner, the woman was frozen solid. Left, with an emptiness in her chest that cried out for all the lost years. Bottled emotions that had gathered since she assumed her role as leader shattered and splintered, rushing over the emotional dam she had built for herself.

She stared at his retreating figure like she had seen a ghost – and for all intents and purposes, she had. Her shoulders jumped in sudden, startled alarm when Bradford once again gently took her arm, forcing her wits to gather in cohesive thought. She faced him, with the raw anger, the true upset and with only one real outlet to escape. Silent, hot tears rolled down her cheeks and gingerly, Bradford retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them away.

"John.. I _need_ to speak to Lennert." she mumbled, damning the code name. She needed to speak to her old friend, as who he was, not his identity. If only for her own sanity. Bradford uncomfortably shifted his weight once more, slipping an arm around Kingsley and aiding her back up the ramp. Feng trailed in after them and Kingsley waved a dismissal to Dragunova and Clacher.

"You know he contacts us, not the other way around. We don't know when he'll be free." he gently reminded. Sensing her tense up, he quickly added; " – But I'll see what I can do, yeah? Sveta and Peytor are still hanging around until we can drop them off. I'm sure they wouldn't mind one last job.."

Kingsley, exhausted, blearily nodded and accepted that as the course of action. Bradford waited until she had gotten to her quarters before peeling away and heading over to the infirmary where they were last sent.

* * *

"I'm just saying, Doc, that when ATLAS' arm got torn off, he got a nice, big, capable-of-breaking-kneecaps replacement. Why do I have to have a shitty, human-sized one? Can't it at least transform into a cannon?"

"If you wanted a cannon for an arm, by all means, send your request to Shen. It'll get done around the time we can bother with frivolous requests. But for now, you'll make do with the metal prosthetic."

" – Oi, Oi!, With my two arms and your working legs, Kelly, we can actually make one fuckin' functioning soldier! Hahah!"

"God, Klaus, you're actually right and that's terrifying. You should never be right."

"Broken clocks, Kells! They're correct twice a day!"

" – _**Please**_ , settle down, it can be most disorientating for those freshly freed from the grip of the false Gods. Our newest brother will need time to adjust and to gather his bearings."

A long groan slurred out of Fiducia's mouth as he roused. He fidgeted slightly – body freezing up completely as several facts became apparent to him. One, his armour had been stripped from him, including his helmet to block out the blinding light above. Two, he definitely heard voices all around him. Three, the cot was way too small for him, indicating it was perhaps of a lesser quality. He wasn't in the Hunter's stronghold any more.

He tried to recall the last events that happened to him, but without the Network, he did not have photographic memory to be called upon in a snap instant. All he could remember were dizzying events and muffled, drowned voices. Shielding his eyes with a lazy arm thrown over his face, he slowly opened them and hazily looked around. The first thing that came apparent was the smiling face of one of his kind and another lurched over him, head bowed in almost.. prayer.

"Welcome to the Avenger, brother Fiducia. I am Captain Mox, one of several chieftains under Battelord Betos and one tasked with your orientation to a life without the false Gods –"

Mox's words drifted into a buzzing tone to Fiducia's ear, as his interest was squarely onto the one leaning over him. Angling his head towards her, his hand timidly rose up, fingers slipping underneath her chin and lifting, just a touch, so he could look at her. His blood froze – his breath stolen; being trembling.

"Do.. you remember me?" Hecate whispered softly; imploring. Begging. Mox's speech slowed as he observed the exchange, curiously falling silent to offer them a privacy. He noticed a pair of grins belonging to Klaus and Jane; also finding newfound interest in the two. For their privacy and respect, Mox pulled over the bed curtain, much to the Rangers' protest.

Fiducia, wholly ignoring everything going on around him, focus devoted entirely onto her, had his lips morph into a relieved smile. " – How could I ever forget, Hecate? I've.. missed you. I thought – "

Before he could launch into his grievances that he felt, the first time he knew Hecate's connection to the Network severed, she threw herself over him in a tight embrace, head burrowing against his chest. Fiducia's hands awkwardly froze in mid-air, with zero internal input directing him as to what he should do in such an occasion. He threw a glance over to Mox, whom made some vague gestures.

After managing to translate what he meant, Fiducia slowly settled his hands on Hecate's back, closed his eyes and simply held her. They were more than happy like that. Mox couldn't hold back a proud, albeit questioning smile. He'll have to ask them at a later date, but if they had shared history, then he wasn't going to intrude.

The infirmary doors slid open, admitting Bradford entry into the ward. He scanned the occupants of the room until they settled on Sveta and Peytor tucked in the corner, bickering softly over a busted up datapad. He strode towards them – respectfully nodding to Mox and Dawn as he passed – and clasped his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat to gain their attention, though it was only Peytor whom paid him any mind.

"Sveta, Peytor. I have a critical operation that could use your unique skill sets."

"Yeah, 'bout that." Sveta aimlessly answered, prodding at the datapad's screen and huffing when no result occurred. " – We only take orders from the top dogs. So, get Volk on the line to tell us who to shoot or grab."

"Mhm, what's Elena here for if you're just going to be using us anyway?" Peytor chimed in, scratching at the scruff of a growing beard and swatting Sveta's interfering finger away. "Good wolf in that one and you're wasting her."

"The mission is too risky to send Elena on her own. I would have preferred to send her with Klaus, but as you can see, he's still recovering. In any case, this operation is a request from the Commander herself." _Ahah_ , now that got the boys' rapt attention. Bradford resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"You'll be required to enter deep into enemy territory. The heartland of their city centre; to contact one of our most undercover double agents and inform him that developments are moving faster than he anticipated. We need him to find the time and place to contact us as soon as possible. All you need to do is alert him to who you are and speak about deliveries. He'll understand what you mean."

"Right." Peytor didn't seem to have much faith in that, but smacked Sveta's chest with the datapad anyway. " – What say you, Svyatoslav? One last city centre run?"

"Fine. Yeah. We'll do it. But don't blame me if you end up hearing an ADVENT broadcast yammer on about terror attacks."

"At this point, that is the least of our worries." Bradford muttered.


	52. Laurel

Clean, nondescript and uniform were often attributed to the City Centres. For the politicians of ADVENT, it marketed it as a place that everyone wanted to live in. Safe, secure – yet ultimately, one way. Those admitted into the Centres only exited it out in a body bag, or shipped off elsewhere. A neon expanse stretched across the horizon was an attractive deception from the horrors that lurked within the day-to-day life of an average citizen.

Reapers were no strangers to these Centres. They vowed they would never live in one and entered into it's perimeter if it meant they could cause havoc and destruction. Neither of such things were Sveta and Peytor's goal tonight, though if the former had anything to say about it, then a little mayhem was always on the docket.

Getting into the city was significantly more difficult than infiltrating a facility off the beaten path. XCOM's undercover operative, Cato, was known somewhat of a political pundit; holding quite a high office for one of the last few genuine human officials that pulled the strings. Either or not his power in ADVENT meant anything; he was decidedly inoffensive to their regime, voting what the upper echelon demanded and flip-flopping between stances on a dime, if it suited ADVENT's narrative.

The city was guarded; more so than usual. It's citizens and officials were generously gifted a contingent security detail of three-to-one ratio. Identification posts were stationed at every street corner, manned by sleek, black-armoured troopers and their magnetic rifles openly carried. Sectoids slunk about the alleyways and over-looked corners of the centre, and Vipers patrolled the streets in public view of everyone.

There was no special plan, no master crafted scheme to get in. Just a high hope that the tech they fleeced from the Black Market worked.

Peytor smoothed down his grey ADVENT-issued suit jacket for the umpteenth time, staring at the mirror. His grizzled, decidedly ' _threatening_ ' appearance glared back. He'd cleaned up the scruff of his beard, which had shaved off a few years and also gave way to indicating his strong jaw and stern looking face. Aside from the faded scars which could be explained away with a mismanaged clinic appointment; there was little he could do to mask the war-worn look.

His partner, Sveta, had an even worse time. There would be zero chance of explaining away the Chryssalid injury of his eye. After lamenting the loss of his facial hair, he fretted over a way to cover up the most egregious sign that they were not who they said they were.

" – Maybe sunglasses?" Peytor suggested after watching a full minute of Sveta worry. The blond paused, then rummaged through their salvage of a clothes store to find the aforementioned eyewear. He made a soft noise of affirmation when he found a pair that he liked – and would obscure his injury.

"How do I look?" Sveta asked, placing the sunglasses on and hitting Peytor with his most winning smile. " – Do I pull off the ' _eccentric small business owner_ ' look well?"

Peytor chuffed slightly. "You look handsome as always. Red's your colour."

Either he was speaking of the red suit or the flush that captured his face, Sveta didn't know. A nervous, but light-hearted laugh rumbled from him, thumping his partner cheerfully on the chest before stepping out of the public restroom. Peytor followed, falling into step beside him.

Thanks to the assistance of old contacts still lurking in the city and greasing their palms a little, the pair discovered where Cato would be for the approaching hour. Engaging him in the middle of the street was too risky – there was far too many eyes and listening ears; both citizens and ADVENT alike – but his choice of venue for an evening meal might provide them with some privacy.

Though as Peytor observed, seeing each shopfront manned by two troopers at a minimum, not including the ones lurking inside; he didn't hold out much hope to catch Cato on his lonesome.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, they wandered the street, in no real rush towards the restaurant. They couldn't increase their pace even if they wished to; as rousing suspicion or acting 'disorderly' would be detrimental to their mission. Even if, just in case, Sveta had managed to smuggle his handgun into the city, albeit disassembled and concealed.

They blended well with the crowd once they managed to slip within it and become just one of the many faces. Peytor had especially planned their route to include the least amount of identification posts to compromise them. That didn't stop the fact he could feel sets of eyes observe their every move like surveillance hawk. His arm snaked protectively around Sveta's waist – the other's hand meeting his own to pat reassuringly.

Neither of them liked being there. The city centres were the antithesis to everything a Reaper stood for.

The garish neon sign of the high-class restaurant blared out at the end of the street, with a plush carpet trailing inwards and what looked to be a singular Officer stationed outside, checking the papers of the patrons passing in. Peytor cursed under his breath, his gaze already scaling up the building tot look for an alternative route – and mollified at the sight of vents, a door on the roof and a service alleyway.

Peytor felt Sveta tense up against his side when a lounging trooper barked something sharp; relief coming like a roller-coaster as the trooper was more interested in accosting a civilian to the scanning post than them. He subtly picked up the pace to avoid being next, squeezing his partner slightly and withdrawing his arm when they were approaching the building.

Sveta undoubtedly saw the Officer as well; a frown present on his lips. He made an inconspicuous cant of his head towards the alley, to which Peytor affirmed with a nudge on his hand. The pair waited until the Officer's attention was directed to a couple about to enter before making a dive towards the alley.

After checking for security cameras and assuring that they were safe for now, Peytor's shoulders slumped, muttering in their native tongue; " – This place is going to be crawling with ADVENT goons. We should wait until he's finished and catch him leaving."

"It's not going to be that bad." Sveta dismissed, peeking through the service entrance window. His vision of the restaurant's main floor was obscured, but through the peep hole he could determine that the kitchen staff were a mixture of automated and human. He grimaced seeing a MEC serve as waitstaff with the more unsightly, combat parts repainted.

"I'm telling you, Sveta. Bad vibes."

"Look. All we need to do is get in, drop the message, and get out. What's the worst that could -"

"Don't." Peytor interrupted. "Don't even finish that."

Tutting to himself, Sveta peeled away from the door and gestured upwards. It'd be impossible to slip in through the kitchen given how busy it was, but the top floor should be relatively unguarded. They scoured the alleyway to find a fixture they could latch onto, with some success found in the outer piping bolted to the wall. Sveta tested it's capability of holding his weight, having ascended the first rung. Satisfied it wasn't about to break off and cause noise, he continued upwards with Peytor closely behind him.

As expected, the door to the roof was locked. Sveta made a vague gesture for Peytor to sort it as he kept watch and brought out the disassembled handgun. By the time he'd put all the pieces in working order and cocked back the hammer, testing an empty shot, he heard the door groan open. Sveta glanced over – and made a noise of alarm.

"I didn't mean for you to break the door's hinges," he hissed. Peytor nonchalantly shrugged his shoulder.

"By the time they investigate it, we'll be in and out, yeah?"

Sveta muttered something about it not being the point, but either way, he shoved his gun back into the hidden holster in the inside of his suit jacket and took the lead. The roof entry and the management floor of the restaurant was typically vacant when there was a large amount of patrons in the dinner rush. The owner worked closely with the front of house and the peacekeepers better stationed where the masses were.

Sveta stopped at the stairwell, blocking Peytor's path and vision. He could see his partner's face whiten like a ghost at the sight of something or another. Placing his hand on Sveta's shoulder, he leaned closer, softly questioning.

"There's _**thousands**_." he intoned. With a bit of physical encouragement, Sveta stepped to the side and allowed Peytor to descend to the last step where he too, took in the sight of the main floor.

Hundreds of Stun Lancers and Officers swathed in red or denim-blue as far as the eye could see. Black suited men and women dining and chatting aimlessly, normalized to the sight of armed, open-carrying soldiers hovering over their affairs and eavesdropping every possible conversation. Faces that none of them recognized – pure white MECs expertly weaving through the masses to deliver the food.

Sveta only had six bullets and a spare clip that he made himself should things go south. Peytor had less than that.

"Well." Peytor mulled, letting his hand slip from Sveta's shoulder. In any other situation, he might've rubbed it in his face about his gut instinct, were it not for the very real possibility of getting caught, or worse – killed and used post-humorously to fuel the ADVENT propaganda machine.

"This is going to be interesting."

* * *

" – It's still a crying shame what happened to Lionel. We all thought he was a good man. Nobody could have expected he was a sympathizer!"

"Crying shame." Lennert repeated just audible enough as his dinner companions spoke openly amongst themselves. The consequences of Jax-Mon's actions that night were finally coming to light. His gaze remained solidly on his food as he recalled back to it. He thought to himself that listening to the fallout wouldn't be so difficult, but ten minutes into the conversation and he wished nothing more than for the gossiper to shut up.

The woman in question, however, had no intentions to do such a thing, knife and fork stilling in place as she leaned surreptitiously to the centre; gaze flitting between patron to patron. "It was reported that Captain Sibelius found three crates of contraband stuffed into the cellar, behind their winery rack. Three crates! I would have thought perhaps the odd message passed along, but.. dealing with the Black Market..?"

Sibelius was an interesting ADVENT General, as far as Lennert was concerned, so he remained tenaciously interested into the drivel. He was once assigned as personal guard to Doctor Lovett when she was spearheading ADVENT's scientific projects many years ago. After she'd absconded the moment their true colours started to show, he was reassigned time and again until landing a somewhat permanent position as Chief of Police.

In any case, he was making a name for himself, steadily crawling to beat Mox's old record of busts and dissidents rounded up. Something the Skirmisher in question would not be proud of.

"Of course," the woman paused to take a sip of her white wine, covertly sending a fleeting glance to the nearby Officer that was indubitably listening to every word. " – You couldn't imagine my shock when I was consoling his grieving wife when the good Captain bursts in and arrests her."

"I still don't understand that part, Gina." one of the other dinner companions mentions, shaking his head.

Lennert's appetite was lost, knowing that Lionel and his wife were truly innocent. He tried to focus on his training to save face and keep character, but it didn't warm his blood running cold.

" – Shouldn't she have been monitored by one of the in-home assistants? I know for a fact that Lionel had several. He doted on her. If she was collaborating with her husband, they would've know a lot sooner about his dealings. So maybe she's right to say that whatever he did, she really _wasn't_ involved."

Out of the corner of Lennert's eye, he saw the stationed Officer readjust his grip on his rifle. To save his unwitting friend a beating later, he cleared his throat rather loudly and finally participated into the conversation.

"Have you forgotten about the time she mentioned one of them had passed during the twentieth anniversary? We all were quick to believe it was the dissidents." Lennert told strongly, leaving just enough pause for his words to sink in before adding; " – But she was clearly covering her husband's tracks. Evidently, that assistant saw and knew too much and had to be silenced."

"Oh, yes." the man thoughtfully murmured, not entirely believing but catching the drift. It was not in his interest to poke holes into the story. "Awfully convenient, but it makes a lot of sense. Three crates.. couldn't do that on his own. Must have had some help."

"Exactly." Gina huffed. "What a world we live in, gentlemen, that there are people that would forsake all the gifts ADVENT has bestowed upon us – and for what? I wish we had saw the signs sooner. Lionel had us fooled."

"What a world." Lennert droned flatly, settling his cutlery down in favour for his own wine. The fruity taste of alcohol did not bring the same pleasant buzz he was used to; instead feeling as if it clumped in his throat and solidified into a lump. His free hand briefly wiped at his face, doing his best to ignore the rest of the conversation, gaze halfheartedly scanning upwards.

Not all of the patrons were like Gina; fully enthralled by the promises and lure of ADVENT. He spotted a few familiar low faces of those, like Lennert, merely showing to make an effort to appreciate their taskmasters. Just as many as he saw those to avoid; that were firm watchdogs for even the slight action that could be interpreted as criminal.

He supposed when entertainment was so heavily restricted and media doctored and monitored, it fell on the humans themselves to stave off the boredom. He only wished it didn't amalgamate into a chimera of patriotism and snitching.

A pair stood out from the usual crowd as they manoeuvred through the tables and guards alike. At first, Lennert thought nothing of them until he caught sight of the blond's sunglasses falling down the bridge of his nose just enough to – Blindness in one eye. Direct result of a Chryssalid attack, with the languid, slash-like scar to corroborate that. _Syvatoslav_. That would, without a doubt, make his partner Peytor.

What were they doing here, so deep in ADVENT territory?

" – Lennert!"

"Hm?" Snapping out of it, he pulled his gaze back, blinking as several pair of expecting eyes stared at him. Gina, faking exasperated exhaustion well, tutted disapprovingly.

"If you've finished your customary bout of navel-gazing, then perhaps you'd like to answer my question," she snipped and Lennert got the distinct impression she was gazing down her nose at him. " – Have you received my reports yet?"

"I have." When she kept her gaze on him to urge him to expand on that, Lennert uncomfortably shifted his seat, trying not to let his own eyes trail away to watch the Reapers get up to God knows what. "But I haven't had time to read them."

He was quick to add as she tsked and scowled; " – Speak to Walter if you don't believe me, but I've had my hands tied as of late. My office is practically swamped with the Administration day in and day out. I'll get to it soon, I promise."

Placated; though with too dire a need to convey some measure of indigence, Gina grumbled; "See to it that you do."

Expertly, Lennert managed to conceal his grimace well when he noticed the pair of Reapers spot him among the guests, exchange some gestures between one another and beginning to approach them. He silently begged them not to. A sense of urgency even flickered in his eyes as he pointedly looked towards them. _Stop. Don't come any closer._

Unfortunately, for all Sveta's and Peytor's skills, reading minds were not one of them.

Conscious of his accent, Peytor was the first who spoke stiltedly, trying not to over-enunciate his words as he carefully navigated the sentence whilst all pairs of eyes seemed trained on them like vultures to carrion. " – Is there a ' _Mister Eerkens_ ' present among you?"

"Who exactly is asking?" It was Gina who retorted on his behalf, her eyes narrowed sharply at the two. Her overly-paranoid look was enough to motivate the lounging ADVENT Officer to pushed away from his post at the wall, stalking closer towards them in case of an incident. Sveta's gaze flung practically everywhere – analyzing escape routes, cover, the works.

"Delivery guys. Mister Eerkens was expecting a delivery; and it's late arriving."

Lennert could feel his soul sink into the pit of his stomach. Not because he knew what on God's green Earth they were speaking of, but because the longer they spoke – the longer they simply existed, the more incriminated he became. He simply couldn't allow them to continue acting like buffoons on a covert job woven in intricate delicacy.

"Officer," he gruffly barked. "Please escort these.. _gentlemen_ off the premise. If there is any notifications I have to address, my PA will inform me promptly. I won't stand for this harassment. I told you once not to bother me out of hours."

" _ **What**_?" Sveta exclaimed, lips peeling back in a sneer as the red-caped Officer roughly grabbed at the lapel of his suit jacket and twisted Peytor's arm behind his back. Both men in tow, he marched them towards the kitchen and service exit to the alley where they may be dealt with outside of the public eye.

Throwing them harshly against the wall, the Officer spat something aggressive in ADVENT's language, reaching for his magnetic rifle. A second of surprise seized his frame when the muzzle of Sveta's gun was shoved unceremoniously into his mouth, silencing his speech and soon, himself entirely.

"Sorry. Can't afford to make a sound." He offered a brief, wild grin before pulling the trigger. It hadn't provided the silencing effect he desired, with the heavy armour thumping against the foundation of the building and orange-red blood splattering upwards in a gory spray. Peytor watched the door and the entrance to the alley as he absentmindedly fixed his jacket.

"Well, now we've probably alerted every scout post, every trooper pod and every fuckin' thing in a fifty mile radius." He casually stated as Sveta gingerly pulled his revolver loose, shaking it free of the viscera and flicking off what might've been the remnants of a tongue before holstering it. " – And the target didn't have a clue what we were talking about. No point staying to get flayed alive. Let's head back to the wilderness."

"We can still salvage it." argued Sveta. Peytor was about to contest, when both men jumped into action the moment the service door slammed open. The blond's quick-draw would be something the Hunter would be proud of, and Peytor fell into a combative stance, ready to pin whomever to the wall. Luckily for them, it was a familiar face.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Lennert snapped, slapping Sveta's pointed gun down away from his chest; lips pulled into a fierce snarl. He knew he was risking it all by confronting the two, but they did provide enough distraction for him to excuse himself from the guests to sort out matters.

"– I have spent _twenty years and counting_ crafting this cover and conducting this espionage mission and you may very well have demolished it in a matter of _**minutes**_. Unbelievable. This better be the utmost state of emergency or you'll have more than just ADVENT to worry about."

" _Peace_." Sveta murmured, thoroughly chastised. He slipped his gun back into it's holster once more, hands gesturing placating in a vain hope of lessening Lennert's ire. "You need to contact the Commander. _Urgently_. Thought the whole _delivery shtick_ would have made it obvious. You know. Late deliveries.. you not calling – "

"Just get out of my sight." he irritably spat, knowing full well now, in hindsight, that he should remind Kingsley not to have Bradford plan a code language to exchange between the operatives. But, more importantly, was the thinly hidden concern that set a mountain of trepidation on his face. Kingsley wouldn't risk his cover unless the entire operation was blown wide open – or concerning developments had made. He pushed past the Reapers. They would be able to find their own way out.

Lennert had work to do.

* * *

In defying the Elders; Jax-Mon realised how little purpose her life held, outside of culling those they told her to. She cut herself loose into the great, open world with nothing but her thoughts, intuition and ambition to keep her company. Perhaps that is why she found herself back at the city centre, at the mole's apartment, waiting like a snake in the grass. She did not know what else to do.

Her mind was empty, save for her own inner voice parroting the intrusive thoughts that drifted, unhindered. There was no low-humming buzz of the ever-present Network in the back of her mind, no oppressive thumb pressed against her psionic signature to remind her of the manacles around her.

Just simply.. _**her**_.

What measure made a person? Was she any more of one now that she was no longer beholden to the Elders – or less, now that she was purposeless, aimless; flitting about like a moth seeking light as she sought clarity? In a desperation to fill the gnawing void that had festered in her stomach since shattering her sarcophagus and thus, her livelihood, she set herself a goal.

She wanted to make the Elders, specifically Joy, rue the day that she created her.

Jax-Mon idly wondered as she waited for the double agent, if humans had such problems. What she had learned from them, gleamed from the garbage Dhag-Mai offloaded to her, to studying and observing XCOM; was that no. It was their birthright, their _prerogative_ to start out with nothing and seize life. But, she realized that some latched onto vices to stave off the void. They took to drink, to smoking or any number of deliberating things in order to dull their senses to the truth.

It was no wonder why she attached herself to a quest of vengeance. It was her vice, because without it; Jax-Mon did not want to face the truth any more than she had in her short life. The lies weaved by her masters hurt – cut to the core and this.. rebellion of hers, was merely her way of placing a band-aid over it.

Her senses picked up the locking mechanism of the door start to unwind long before someone started to unlock the door. Snapped out of her musings, she set them aside for another time, perhaps never, to focus on the present. With a mere thought, Jax-Mon vanished from sight; psionic signature hidden low around her as Lennert opened the door and stepped in.

From what she could see, he seemed exhausted. His face, which usually held a finely crafted mask of restrained emotions, had cracked allowing her to see the pinched tension around his temple. Jax-Mon glanced towards the clock on the wall, noting that he was considerably earlier than she would have expected him to be home.

The Assassin rose from her seat, following Lennert descending the stairs to the basement. Good, if he was about to contact the Commander, that is exactly what she needed. Her hand shot out before he could progress getting the communication equipment out, feeling him freeze up when she grabbed his shoulder and stilled him.

"I've come to collect, Cato." she told. Her shroud drops, revealing herself. Lennert did not even risk looking behind him, merely remaining frozen in spot. Her hand was better than her katana, at least, but considering she could snap his neck without too much effort, it wasn't that comforting. " – I seek information."

"I.." He began, then rethought his sentence when her grip tightened. " – I was just about to contact the Commander. What sort of information are you after?"

"I will gain it from your conversation with her." she tells. "However, you will also introduce me and allow me to time to speak with her. Is this clear?"

Lennert's jaw squared. "I can't promise she'll entertain the conversation with you. Are you certain you want this, Saint Balladhur -"

Her katana was drawn quicker than his lips had time to finish forming the letters, the edge of it pressed against his neck, close enough that even swallowing thickly would make him cut himself against the blade. He closed his eyes briefly to ride out the wave of panic that washed over him, reopening them to firmly gaze ahead. The grip on his shoulder had intensified to the point that Jax-Mon risked dislocating it.

" _Do not_ ," she warned lowly. "Call me by _that_ title any longer."

"… As you wish, Wraithmaiden." That seemed marginally better than her false claim of sainthood and his shoulders all but sagged in relief when her katana drew away from his neck. Roughly, she shoved him forward to continue with setting up the broadcast and dutifully silent, he did so.

As Lennert waited for the Avenger to hail his signal; he let his gaze slide off to the side and study the Assassin from the corner of his eye. Something seemed.. different, about her. The psionic weight that she once carried seemed.. perceptibly less; yet now entirely upheld by her shoulders rather than some intangible presence. Her face was morose, holding none of the concentrated effort to assume a queenly, regal mask.

He wasn't in the position to probe, nor was he one to exchange sympathies with the enemy, so he returned his attention to the monitor screen – relaxing visibly as the image flickered and spluttered into life, projecting Kingsley's likeness in glitched bursts.

" _Lennert_ ," she addressed tiredly. From one presence to the next, he didn't need to see her in person to feel the sheer weight of exhaustion that rolled from her. " _– I apologize for the unorthodox contact, but there have been recent developments that warrant the emergency._ "

"Bring me up to speed." he requested, aware of Jax-Mon's eyes burning holes into him. "What's the situation?"

" _Things are advancing faster than you anticipated. Julian – long story, he's an AI – managed to knock out two of our biggest roadblocks in one fell swoop. We know the substance of the Blacksite vial and from what he was able to gleam from the Codex; information about a psionic gate. Have you come across any files pertaining to that?"_

Lennert raked his mind for the answer; ignoring for the moment the way Jax-Mon's eyes widened slightly as she listened in. Eventually, he ended up shaking his head slowly.

"No, this is entirely new. Anything psionic related, the Administration is tight-lipped about. A gate like the one you speak of would be considered myth at best; or silenced those that spoke of it at worst." He paused, wetting his lips in anticipation. He.. wasn't looking forward to introducing the Assassin, especially not like this.

" _Work on acquiring more files regarding the psionic gate. I don't want to blindly storm this thing only to find out the Aliens have dropped in every hard-hitting unit they have in their arsenal. It's bad enough that we're working with borrowed time until the Hunter strikes the Avenger directly…_ "

State of emergency indeed. Lennert couldn't help but have a shade of true concern shine through his professional veneer. "I can break my cover and rally every double agent, sympathizer and contact I have built here to bolster your defences at base, Commander. If things are as dire as you say.."

Kingsley made a slight noise of disapproval. " _–_ _You're more useful giving us eyes and ears to the inner workings of ADVENT, Lennert. Your work is invaluable. At the very least, we no longer have to worry about the Assassin or the Warlock partaking in this shadow war, so we have that going for our favour._ "

Lennert glanced over to Jax-Mon, then back to the Commander in one moment. "I wouldn't dismiss the Assassin so quickly, Commander."

"… _Why so? What ar_ _en't you_ _telling me, Lennert?_ "

He moved out of frame of the camera, worrying Kingsley as on her end, all she saw was blackness. She repeated his name, hand disappearing off the side and the visuals shaking as she fussed with her own camera and equipment, wondering if there was some technical difficulties. She ceased her actions immediately when the Assassin drifted into the centre.

Kingsley's face was a picturesque portrait of controlled focus as she stared pointedly at the Chosen emblem emblazoned on the middle of her armour. Jax-Mon lowered herself so that she may been seen properly, locking gazes with the Commander with her own commendable stoicism. Neatly, the Assassin's hands threaded together and settled in front of her.

As much as she played up act that she held all the cards – frankly, Jax-Mon did not even know where to begin. A thousand thoughts swarmed in her mind; for once not met with the constant feedback or answered questions of the Network. Did she greet her as she did when her voice and presence were nothing more than a drifting, psionic probe? Or would she offer a shred of humility for the position she had been thrust in?

"Commander." Jax-Mon quietly began, holding her gaze well and unblinking. The Assassin wasn't the only one met with an impossible amount of inner turmoil; though Kingsley's were firmly cemented in a disbelief that Lennert had betrayed her. If her meeting with the Warlock was anything to go by, then she wasn't about to be so dismissive yet.

"I take it that you have spoken to my brother, the elder, to hold the opinion that I no longer wish to participate in the ridiculous competition set out to capture you." she demurely murmured. " – and that you know my older seeks to strike you at the heart."

" _That's correct.._ " Kingsley aloofly responded; muscles in her throat tensing. The pitiful camera did little to capture all of the minor micro-movements that she made, but to the trained eye of the Assassin, she caught every twitch, every pulse.

"Allow me to cut to the chase and dispense with pleasantries. You wish to tackle the psionic gate? Do you comprehend what it is even for? There are enemies surrounding the Resistance at every corner, and yet you chase that which you do not understand?" Jax-Mon chastised, though her probing was not out of malicious intent, but instead a sort of aggressive encouragement.

" _I'm not interested in understanding the meticulous ins and outs of this gateway. I'll leave that concern to my R &D department. I, however, want nothing more than to strike at the heart of the Elders. __They are out there, somewhere, and this gateway must be the key to finding them._ "

"The psionic gateway is not a toy to play around with. As the name implies, you would require an extraordinary amount of power to even activate it. Your Paladin is quaint – but she is _**mortal**_ , still." Jax-Mon matched steel with steel, undeterred. "Even if you do manage to acquire it, how do you plan to power it?"

" _Why are you interested? The Warlock made it expressly clear that we would not gain assistance from you._ "

" – And he is right. I am not here to help you or the Resistance. However, our goals are mutually aligned enough to the point that it would be detrimental not to at least contact you, Commander. But, if that is not sufficient for you, consider this merely repayment for opening my eyes to the truth. A favour, if you will."

Jax-Mon straightened. "If you truly wish to pursue this goal of the psionic gateway, you are going to require psionics touched by the Void in order to power it. You, Commander, wield such abilities thanks to the Elders. However. I am sure you are aware what has happened to them with their reckless use of their psionics. You are hardly surviving it's mere existence in you to begin with. To use them.."

Her implication was not lost on Kingsley. A sour frown sat on her lips as she considered the Assassin's words, as well as her plan that Bradford had tried to shoot down. After a stretch of silence, which felt like eternity, she spoke.

"… _We are in possession of an Avatar body, thanks to the raid on the ADVENT Forge. A vial of Elder DNA from the Blacksite,_ _and a stasis suit the Avatar was stationed in._ _All we require now is the procedure itself._ " she quietly informed. " _Controlling that body, designed to accommodate the Elders' psionics, I should be able to power_ _the_ _gate._ "

The Assassin inclined her head. "When your mole uncovered the Avatar Files, there were three documents attached. Commentary on the Chosen, documentation of the Forge, and a third one you likely disregarded because it was unreadable. The information you seek is within that one – to save you time decoding the Elders' own language, I will send a translated copy over."

" _Thank you._ " the gratitude came instinctively, with Kingsley watching Jax-Mon cautiously. The file transfer from the Avenger to them were quick, and hurriedly skipping over the Chosen commentary as it still set a bad taste in her mouth, the Assassin focused on the third document.

It didn't take long for Jax-Mon to translate the file into readable English, though she kept it as literal and direct as possible, with only a few minor changes in sentence structures. The core procedure was beyond her knowledge, but she thankfully did not have to change a single step that they had processed. Whilst the grammar may have been a little wonky in some areas; it was understandable enough for them.

Within the half hour, she sent over the translated file and moved to exit the frame without so much as a goodbye, pausing only when she heard Kingsley's call.

" _Wait. Assassin – Jax-Mon._ " she corrected herself, using her name to show her newfound respect for the renegade. " _I ask you to reconsider your stance. You needn't have to live on the Avenger to help the cause –_ "

"No." she bluntly shot down. "I am done pledging myself to causes and people who consider themselves above me, Commander. I work for none but myself from now on. But I will wish you luck. If you are able to survive my brother's impending assault, then nothing on this Earth will stop you."

Disappointed, but not surprised by Jax-Mon's refusal, Kingsley watched as she fully exited the scene and allowed Lennert to move back into frame. They exchanged a silent conversation through looks alone, before the Commander piped up again.

" _We have much work to be done – and time is of the essence._ " she said. " _Vigilo Confido._ "

"Vigilo Confido." Lennert repeated. The screen flickered black as the communications cut. He sat there, staring quietly at the monitor for a long moment before swiveling in his chair to face Jax-Mon.

Or, he would have, had she still been there. Blinking, he glanced around to no avail. The Assassin had vanished, with not a single trace or sound that she had ever been there.

Jax-Mon now had a more direct, immediate goal. She would clear out the Elders' minions surrounding the psionic gateway. Whilst her actions may be seen as beneficial to XCOM, she merely glanced over that fact for a different one: dealing a harsh blow to her former masters.

None will survive.


	53. Ceasefire

Jax-Mon needn't know where exactly the psionic gateway was – nature signposted it's location clearly.

When the Elders came with their technology and the horrible machinations of biological-mechanical infusions; they not only gated the people of Earth into a way of living dependant on them and their advancements, but also terraformed the world into a psionically-irradiated hellscape of mutated ecosystems and spreading blight.

Not only had the Chryssalids single-handedly made short work of every natural species on Earth sans for those that bred faster than they could hunt – but the psionic fallout from the Elders' experiments and wanton use in their systems latched into the flora. What was once sprawling meadows or rolling green hills were now corrupting rot, bent on decay. The consumption of which had also been the fatal mistake of many, now-extinct species.

Naturally, such things were expected by-products and the Elders never forecast their stay on Earth to be permanent. They would strip mine the planet for every useable material – genetic or otherwise – complete their goal and abandon it for the next. It had been the fate of several planets before it and the human's quaint little home was no exception.

The Assassin knelt down where the blight intersected with the light, yellowy-green grass. Her gloved hand gently pressed down at the patch. The decomposed plant matter scattered like ash in the wind; lacking any nutrients to nurture the soil. What few alien flowers that sprung and thrived in such conditions were content to stretch outwards to the natural patch of grass; unseen roots slowly sapping away, slowly spreading. Content to feast.

A pang of sympathy rung throughout her chest, though she found the feeling hollow and aimless. For whom did she pity? The grass – the ground? Even without the presence of the Elders ever setting foot on the planet, everything decayed in the end. But, perhaps, her pensive sorrow was for the humans. Feelings she was never supposed to have empathized the helplessness they must feel; observing the world die by means they had no way to control, or even understand.

The latent psionic energy laced within the Earth itself and the presence of the gateway miles ahead set a palpable stone in her stomach. If she closed her eyes, she could feasibly envision her former masters looming above. It did not make for companionable thoughts. Gathering her own energy, she cast it around herself in a concealing shroud; letting her hand rest familiarly on the hilt of her katana as she ventured forth.

Her steps were ethereally light, meaning not even the underside of her boot brushed and disturbed the dead matter underfoot. More importantly, to her senses, beneath the ground, she heard the heartbeat of thousands. The sickly scratching of burrowing claws rending earth and dirt to dig a burrow. Chryssalids teemed the area; naturally resistant to the psionic radiation that hung in the air. Whilst they were prone to burrow around sustainable sources of food; many flocked to the gateway from the network of underground tunnels as it provided solitary sanctuary.

The oppressive energy clung to her shroud like tar, making the otherwise imperceptible, silken feeling now weighty and heavy around her shoulders and chest. She would have to rely on rudimentary means of concealment if she wanted to navigate the treacherous land unhindered.

Reluctantly, Jax-Mon allowed her shroud to dissipate, and she gravitated towards the outcrops surrounding the area. Her purple skin and blackish-armour gave her an excellent camouflage within the environment, but even a psionic creature such as herself found the continued exposure to the land.. unsavoury.

By the time she reached the crag further up ahead; soft, ancient chatter forced her to press herself hidden against the shadow of the rocks; the targets residing above.

Jax-Mon needn't look to know who it was that spoke. It seemed the Archon King and what was left of his flock had retreated to one place they assumed was safe from the eyes and ears of XCOM and ADVENT alike. Among the chatter; she heard the faint hiss of flame licking metal. She could only assume, without risking revealing herself, they were recuperating from their battle before moving ahead.

She was inclined to leave them to their business and focus on her mission, however she recalled the conversation held with the King. How she had advocated for her former masters – and if not them, then a stance of non-partisan. Grimacing, she knew her word would mean even less in the eyes of him and his court if she returned to speak with him as a disgraced saint. A mortal.

But.. she had made a mistake with him. Potentially offered him ideas that were not in his best interest. If he took defeat at XCOM's hands as a sign to join ADVENT out of futility, then she would have played a hand in that and Jax-Mon refused to allow her mistakes to fester. She would be granted audience with him, title or not.

Eerily silent, Jax-Mon lifted herself to the incline, peeking over to spy on the targets. The Archon King's back was facing her, with one of his royal guards directly behind him, tending to the injury he sustained on his shoulder and side. There was another of the guards who had the most chance of spotting her, but his focus was solely on his liege; speaking gently to whatever the King had posited earlier.

Exhaling a breath of tension, the Assassin hauled herself up; preparing herself mentally to defend at any costs and spoke plain and clearly; "– Archon King."

Her voice broke to an immediate flurry of activity. The King whipped around, abandoned gold staff on the floor retrieved and brandished in an instant. The other two guards sprung into action; the feather-like jets on their ornate, gilded wing set risen like hackles and the flames burning a frenzied red. A burst of fuel propelled the King forward; stave flourished and jabbed forward; intending to pierce straight into her gut.

Her katana sliced through the air and met his staff in a harmonious clash of singing metal. Jax-Mon dug her heels into the ground, pushed almost perilously to the edge at the force of the King's momentum. His visage twisted into a fierce snarl and she met it with a determinable cool that could flash freeze the very stars.

"How dare you address me! Come here to gloat, have you, Elders' Saint?" Her gaze flashed a raw fury – and using her thumb, she popped open the hilt of her katana, letting her small dagger fall into her awaiting hand. The King noticed; adjusting his grip on his stave too late. Her swing was backed with vitriol and anger; lodging her dagger and it's longer sister into the space around the staff and disarming him shortly.

Discarding his weapon off the side of the cliff; his royal guards mobilized into action – only forced to pause as Jax-Mon pressed the tip of her katana into the Archon King's neck. Their liege's snarl dropped to a snarl; claws twitching in anticipation. She had bested him in such short work; helped because of his already weakened state. Metal was easily repairable, but his internal organs hadn't taken the shock of Feng's Ionic Storm well.

"I am beholden to the Elders no longer." she sternly told. It was impossible to discern the Archon's body language; but she noticed the jets flutter lightly, as well as the distinct impression of a gaze pinning her with a flat look. Jax-Mon held her head up high. "I … saw through their lies. I found and embraced the truth. Not only what they had done to me, but countless others under them – your kind included."

"The sentiment is too little, too late, Wraithmaiden." the King spat. "What of the thousands slain by your blade for your masters, hm? How will you tell them that now you no longer shroud yourself in wilful ignorance? Do you expect us to see you as _kin_?"

Although she expected resistance, her grip on her katana tightened and her eyes narrowed into thin slits, until eventually, her sword drops from his throat. He wasn't sure how to take the action, but at the very least, he waved off his wary guards. If Jax-Mon intended to kill him, she had ample opportunity and now forsaken it.

"No. Nor do I expect anyone's forgiveness. I care not of how the world perceives of me. As I have found, I vehemently loathe what they do." The sainthood would always leave a sour taste in her mouth. Coppery and tart. Her eyes briefly closed, before they opened to regard the King. "– But it is foolish to cast aside or even turn against one another in times such as these. There may be little point of asking for an alliance with you.. but I propose; instead, a ceasefire. A momentary peace to focus on the true threat."

The King paused and for a solid minute, she thought he was truly considering her proposal. But it was dashed the moment he scoffed. "Naivete does not become you, Wraithmaiden. Do you truly think we can – what? Cast aside our differences? Your masters –"

"Why must _**I**_ burden the guilt of masters I no longer answer to?" she interjects harshly; scowl displaying both rows of sharpened teeth. "I agree, what they have done to your kind is nothing less than a tragic atrocity. Do you fault your indoctrinated brethren for killing in the Elders name, too? For playing their part as heraldic icons of their glory?"

Jax-Mon further seized her point as the King's silence allowed her; though her tone softened considerably. She was not intending to inspire him to sympathize with her, rather to see the truth of her nature and her words. " – I was created to serve and obey, without question or regret. When I confronted them with both; they deemed me nothing more than unfit reject. I was never given a choice. I want to be able to offer you, at the very least, a choice, Archon King."

The prevailing silence encompassed them a little longer. The King's head was tilted away, his gaze following suit as he deliberated over Jax-Mon's words. Respectfully, she gave him the time to do so. She watched the feathers aligning the wing piece on his back droop; the red-hot fire simmering out to it's normal, warm glow of orange hues. At the very least, he was calmed, but she did not expect his co-operation.

"Why are you here, Wraithmaiden?" he finally questions, head tilting back up, floating just that little bit higher as he'd descended slightly from his raging assault. Jax-Mon regarded this a minor success and ultimately progress. Perhaps she may not make amends, but she was laying the foundation for the diplomacy she once intended – now used for better things than service in the name of the Elders.

"That is a question I have wondered myself in regards to you and your kind, your majesty. This is not a place one accidentally escapes to, even in the heat of battle." she murmurs. His lips purse – and she was quick to answer truthfully. "I seek the psi-gate at the end of this blight's trail. XCOM has plans of taking this area, but they are ill-equipped to deal with the psionic horrors that await them. I will cleanse this place the only way I know how to and leave it for the their taking."

"Hm. I had taken my flock here to use the gateway for ourselves. I found myself reflecting back on your initial advice before I engaged in combat with them – and thus, I will take what is left of my kingdom back to my home world." The lack of confidence in his voice with that plan was easily detectable and something Jax-Mon capitalized on.

" – You lack the psionics to even power the psi-gate." she tells. "I do not wish to be the courier of deathly news; but your planet, as many others touched by the Elders, have been rendered into nothing more than a strip mining operation to fuel their resource machine. There is no planet to worth returning to."

The King was aware of this, but faced with the information so bluntly; he shook his head in denial.

"What other choice do we have? We have no jurisdiction here, on Earth. We were never meant to be here." His voice was noticeably more quiet; bordering a reluctant sorrow. "The most we can do is return and see the damage for ourselves. Remove the Elders influence from our world and work towards restoration."

"A hopeful goal, but a foolish one." There was an undercurrent of derision in her tone, born mostly out of an impatience beginning to settle. "You are better off establishing a regency here."

" – And I still do not take your opinion as though you are my vizier!"

Sensing their conversation spiraling towards a dead-end, Jax-Mon reigned it back in; inclining her head gently and softening her tone. "If you must return to your home, then it is a goal better left pursued after the Elders have been dealt with. Seek XCOM's Commander at the end of this war. I am sure she would be more than willing to allow any aliens to return from whence they came."

Jax-Mon straightened and finally sheathed her katana, turning her attention to the vastness of blight spread out before them. Her scowl eased into a thin, neutral line. It would be several miles yet until she reached the gate – and the aura of psi-energy was only going to get thicker and more oppressive as she went on.

As she was about to descend, a call from the Archon King had her pause; back turned to him.

" – Heracles." he said simply. "For all that I have said against you, Wraithmaiden, you've held yourself into an admirable standard. Your attempts at negotiation has not gone unnoticed to me or my kind. Thus, it is only fitting you know my name. At least, the one you can pronounce in your language."

Jax-Mon angled her head to look over her shoulder. Her mask – a perfected void of emotion – shattered a little to show her face softening just enough.

"Thank you, King Heracles." She pauses; lingers perhaps a touch more than necessary with the question on the tip of her tongue. Exhaling gently, she voices it. "Though you may not take my advise, my destination is to the gate. You may see for yourself what it is – and what it requires, for preparation of when you wish to return home. You needn't simply take my word for it."

"On this occasion," he demurred. "That is one suggestion I find palatable."

* * *

As the King, his guards and the Assassin advanced further into the psionic wasteland; the afflicted forests surrounding them seemed to change. Gone was the dead bark and crippled branches that overhung the pathway, shadowing the stretch of blighted rot ahead; replaced with the illumination of psionic light brightening the hollowed husk.

To Jax-Mon's senses, the psionic overcast like thick smog. She believed herself to be resistant against it; but now she contemplated if perhaps she should have brought her mask. It may have been rendered useless from her pursuit of the Viper King and his unnecessary death; but broken things could be fixed and a slight modification to help her breath easily with the excess psi-energy.

She settled for drawing in her own psionic signature around herself; tightening like a mesh to form a thick, imperceptible shield around herself. It helped enough that it eased the tension in her muscles and it did not take much focus to support the minor psionic ability. Her gaze slid to the side to observe the King, though either or not he seemed effected by the atmosphere, he persevered, nonetheless.

But, what she did notice was how obnoxiously loud the ventilation of his engines whirred. To her God-gifted senses, she heard every hiss of the heat's circulation; every gentle mechanism's hum or click as the internal support structure kept his organs pumping. Not to mention as well; the ever-burning fire scorched the very top of the ruined ground. It did not sear or set the alien fauna alight in a blaze; but merely blackened it and disturbed the soil beneath.

The faint, distant, underground chattering of clacking mandibles grew a touch louder. The squealing whine of hundreds of huddled, burrowed aliens clawing and scratching against one another to barrel through the burrows and address the site of the disturbance. Before, Jax-Mon's soundless arrival and maneuver appeased their sensitive hearing.

The Archons, however..

Her hand slowly, ever so slowly reached for her katana, her other arm casting out and halting her entourage. She felt Heracles' gaze and that of his flock burn questioningly into her, her psionic sense stretched deep below them to track the rising, impending threat. Every breath; heard. Every whistle of the wind. Every stab of pincers sifting through the dirt…

The purpleback Chryssalid burst right underneath her feet – the Assassin leaping from the spot just in time to avoid it's irradiated, sickly spines stabbing upwards into the air. She twisted herself, spinning with her katana to deflect it's barbarous spines as it shot out like poisonous quills. The Archons similarly deflected it; though Heracles knew it could not pierce through the alloy of his chassis. It bound harmlessly off him, and he surged forth with his staff.

As he presented himself as the more imminent threat; the Chryssalid scrambled out of it's burrow and let loose an ear-bleeding screech; loud enough that Jax-Mon fumbled her landing, crashing to the blighted ground and clutching her head in agony; her psionic sense ringing and echoing that banshee wail deep into her eardrums.

Heracles made a clean cut with the jagged prong of the staff; cutting the fleshy thorax of the Chryssalid; nose wrinkling as it bled a sickly amalgamation of pink and green. Globules of it's blood splattered below; proving that it was just as acidic as it's brethren. He was sure to make swift work of it; putting the creature out of it's misery with a decisive blow.

Whilst that Chryssalid had fell; it had awoken the hive. Beneath the surface; Jax-Mon could hear the riled gathering below angrily buzz like a disturbed hornet's nest. The multitudes of whines and terrible, deafening screeches was enough for her to pull back her psionics and force it to instead cancel out the noise.

"The Chryssalids have been alerted to our presence now. This area may as well have been littered with thousands of biological landmines!" she hissed urgently. "Unless we plan to mow through them, we must stick to the high ground and wait for their ire to settle."

Heracles opened his mouth to respond; wincing slightly as he watched Jax-Mon tightly plug her hands against her ears, grip on her katana loose and eyes screwed shut when another vicious howl mounted the tension. He was no expert on Chryssalids, but the deep tenor of that particular baying indicated they may have stumbled upon a denmother. Though they primarily focused on breeding; they were no less vicious than their spawn.

With a short command in his native tongue to his guards; Heracles holstered the staff safely against his wings and tucked his arms under Jax-Mon's own. She was in no position to try and navigate the aforementioned minefield; so he simply lifted her towards the crags and enveloping trees. She did not protest to this – and he found that she was as light, if not _lighter_ than a feather.

Gently, he lowered the Assassin onto the risen hill, careful to angle his jets away as he pulled back. She had all but collapsed to her knees, nursing and cradling her head in her hands; riding out the waves of white noise that insidiously droned in her ears. She could hear the King speak; but it was drowned under the high-pitched frequency. She watched his mouth move; and a surprisingly concerned hand extended to rest on her shoulder.

" – Wraithmaiden?" The tide stemmed; and slowly, Jax-Mon's senses eased out. Her hands slowly drop to her side, though not before wiping the wetness that gathered in the corner of her eyes out of the sheer stress. She lacked her usual grace when she rose; but steadily; she regained her composure.

"I will be fine." she answered. "It was unlucky that the Chryssalid decided to howl whilst my psionic sense was active. Let.. let us proceed from here. You will have no issues navigating through the foliage of the trees, yes?"

A mistake, in any other words. Something about witnessing the Assassin making one humbled Heracles; though respectfully, he brought no special attention to it.

"The thicket is brittle enough that we should be able to pass right through it. The strange psionic poisoning in the trees makes it oddly resistant to fire – so there is no risk of one breaking out because of our wings." Heracles affirmed.

Katana sheathed, Jax-Mon strode forward; resuming to lead the King and his guards onward towards the psionic gateway. It was closer than she initially believed, if they had heard the distant call of a Chryssalid denmother, though there were still a good miles yet of their journey. From the top of the hill, she easily propelled herself forward to land on the branch of the trees.

Her weightlessness meant that only the wind that carried her jump rustled the psi-infused brittle bark and that was not enough to break it from under her. With each leap, she began clearing a good chunk of distance – and the raised hackles of the Chryssalid's angry chittering below began to dissipate.

Soon enough, there were no further trees for her to leap to. She let herself fall to the floor; landing perfectly on the soles of her feet; knees bent and hand splayed just to retain her balance as it touched the ground. The threat had subsided; though she gestured Heracles and the Archons above to remain as they were. She would not entice a frenzy.

They remained in sight only to her far peripheral vision, her gaze solely dedicated in front of her. She resumed her psionic shielding the further they advanced forth; making sure her own, sensitive senses were covered as not to risk a repeat of that mistake. Had the alien life overtaking Earth's natural one not implicated such devastation and destruction of ecosystems – the sight could have been beautiful.

Her musings did not last for long as even through her shielded senses she heard the crunch and stomp of heavy footfall. It took her a moment to identify the gait as a Berserker – though not a particularly healthy one. There was no other explanation why it's gait was so uneven, supplemented with two steps being four steps as it's hands helped it to walk. How strange –

As Jax-Mon was far too focused on actually listening to the creature, she blinked in mild surprise as what she was expected turned out to be something that skimmed just under her nose. She had been correct in that it was a Berserker, but it certainly wasn't an adult. She slipped into an easy squat, peering at the runt that had galloped up to her. She was a curiosity; and the baby seemed to investigate her.

How odd. An infant Berserker? What was it doing here, of all places? The sight of such a creature, in a place so bizarre, struck her absurdly enough that she did not even consider the obvious possibility. She lacked her older's skill of prediction, and it showed in spades in this very second.

The moment Jax-Mon dared to pick up the infant and place it safely off the infested pathway; she had sealed her fate.

Outside of Jax-Mon's field of vision, the Berserker Queen rounded the corner of the raised hill, one meaty fist clutching the rock in support as she inspected over it, trying to find the runt that wandered off. Unlike the Viper King and Heracles; she had long since ripped off the 'gifts' bestowed upon them by their mutually hated creator. The tubes, now empty, still dangled on her back as she was unable to fully rend the rigged system that felt surgically implanted into her.

She was stockier than the common, genetically made Berserkers, with green hues at the top of her back before her natural, muscle-like calluses bled into rustic browns. As fitting for her title, she reigned supreme above the others of her kind, secured by her burly strength and surprising intellect that went past simply smashing stuff. Survival was important and she was equipped with the instincts to make her tribe flourish.

The Queen had, at the very least, managed to stop the production of the adrenaline-inducing chemicals that cycled indefinitely into her. It had made her into an unstoppable killing machine at the cost of free-thinking. Had it not been for her initial escape of Vahlen's lab damaging the armour enough for her to miss a cycle, she may not have been able to save herself from her grisly fate.

As like the Viper King, she had returned to the remnants of her tribe, gathering her battle-sisters and consorts alike to restore what she was able to. The Mutons provided asylum into her tribe informed her of the psi-gate, and thus, the Berserker Queen believed she may be able to find sanctuary in the area deemed fit for only the Chryssalids.

She spotted Jax-Mon lift her child and in those few seconds, all sensibility and control was lost. Uprooting the rock from it's position, a ferocious howl tore from her throat as she threw it towards her. The Assassin had little time to counter and grunted; skating a few inches back as the shock absorbed from the impact radiated through her body. These brief, precious seconds was all the Queen needed to close the distance in one heroic leap; grabbing Jax-Mon in a crushing grip.

Her paw was big enough to have her arms squeezed to her sides and breathing made beyond restrictive. Her Elder-forged armour was the only saving grace of not having all of her bones ground into fine powder, though she is not so sure it will remain intact after the Queen's grievous assault. Desperately trying to find some wiggle room in her grip; her kicks were ineffectual as she was lifted just a few inches above the ground.

The Beserker Queen's fist sailed through the air and connected with a meaty crunch against Jax-Mon's jaw. But before she could be sent flying from such a blow; she shot forward and grabbed the Assassin's leg, making her hit the floor in an unceremonious heap; a trail of orange, meld-infused blood beginning to form. Jax-Mon wheezed a choking gasp; trying to form the words to calm the Queen, to no avail.

Wasting no time, the Queen, making sure to keep ahold of the Assassin's leg, threw her over her head, hitting the ground beside her. She followed that up with slamming her into the rocky cliff-face. The jagged rocks that cut into her face and left scrapes and cuts that were nothing to the utter ache and screaming pain of her bones and muscles. A patch of blood left stained on the rocks as the Queen brought her back in to be cracked over her knee.

" – Rhea!" Heracles, evidently, had finally returned to see why the Assassin had stalled – and was aghast to find her speedily heading to her death as the Berserker Queen beat her down. He flew in fast and low, hand raised forth in a placating gesture. "Stop, you will _kill_ her!"

Having lost momentum, Jax-Mon's spine was safe as she merely was draped over her knee, her psionics slowly peeking out to begin steadily regenerating her severe injuries. Unfortunately, the brief respite was simply that. Brief. The Queen growled something furiously at Heracles; her paw moving from Jax-Mon's leg to her back as she was lifted and tossed with abandon to the pathway, discarded like trash.

She looked like she might have been preparing to rush over and stomp on her had it not been for Heracles moving in front of her and interrupting her once more. " – Yes, I understand what she had done to the Viper King, but you _**have**_ to listen to me, Rhea – "

With the threat of death looming over her, Jax-Mon's breathing shallowed. Everything was radiating pain in some form or manner and she was aware that this life was her last. If Heracles did not convince Rhea to stand down, that was it. Her existence, made nothing.

Between only partially keeping track of their one-sided conversation and her focus shifting to the rapid beating of her heart; her vision blurred a little bit. She didn't know if she had been concussed by Rhea's attack, but everything felt as if it was spinning. The world was moving around her and she was remaining exactly where she was. For the first time, Jax-Mon felt nauseated.

Yet, even despite this, she could hear the click-clack of hungering, salivating mandibles. She thought of dismissing the noise as there were a horde of Chryssalids right beneath them, but the whimpering whine of underdeveloped vocal chords snapped her focus into perfect clarity.

Her vision regained long enough to confirm that a Chryssalid, attracted by the noise of the Queen, had poked out of it's burrow. It wouldn't dare assault someone clearly too strong for it to kill, so it's hunt was turned to a lesser creature. Namely, the Queen's runt.

With great pain; Jax-Mon's hand shakily withdrew her katana and used the little strength she had left to lunge forward, cleanly stabbing the reared Chryssalid into the back. It shrieked; it's pincers swiping the air harmlessly rather than piercing into the infant. With both hands gripping the handle, she swung the Chryssalid away from the child, twisted her blade, and sliced it in half. The corrosive blood poured into the floor rather than on her or the kid.

Jax-Mon openly cringed when a dark shadow loomed over her. Weakly, she thrust her blade into the ground, using it as a point of grip for her to drag herself up to her knees, turning so that she may face her death with dignity.

No such fatality was to befall her. The Queen – Rhea, as Heracles called her – had seen her actions. She huffed and panted, clearly having never been interrupted in a frenzied assault before, but she was willing to make the exception, especially when the runt waddled back to her, oblivious, and climbed to hang safely on her back.

Rhea's hands moved, large fingers scuffing the ground as guttural; yet different growls reverberated in her throat. Hopeless to understand her, Jax-Mon's eyes drifted to Heracles, whom looked vaguely worried for her state of health.

"– Rhea thanks you for saving her young, but she believes her judgement to be true." he translated, paraphrasing. "You killed Takshaka, the Viper King. What reason could you _possibly_ give her to not return the same unto you? He acted as we, the Rulers have – in our natural instinct. Would you slay us all for our nature?"

"I d-deeply," Jax-Mon paused to hack a cough, splattering blood into her gloved hand. She gingerly wiped it clean on her thigh, devoting some of her focus to her psionics to heal her faster. " – Apologize for my actions that day. The death of the Viper King could have been prevented, but I felt as though I had no choice to gain my brother's approval. If it was not by my hands, respectfully, I can assure you he would have taken the task eventually. I do not wish to fight any longer."

The Assassin flinched as Rhea lurched forward; her growl sounding much, much more angrier.

Heracles stalled for a moment, before decidedly omitting some of the more colourful word choices as he relayed the message. "Is that your excuse? That his death was an inevitability and at least he would have dignity?"

"I m-make no excuses for what I've done, merely explain myself. It was senseless butchery, and I gladly accept any atonement you wish to bestow upon me." The Assassin slumped against the cliff-face, letting it support her. "The only plead that I make is that any punishment comes after this war. We cannot afford to turn against each other. Perhaps you have no wish to make amends, but consider this, Queen Rhea."

Jax-Mon felt relief sweep over her when it seemed the Berserker was listening to her, and letting her continue. " – If I truly have any ill intentions against you, then why would I have saved your child? I promise, for what that is worth, I do not wish to slay you or your kind."

Rhea considered her words for a moment; canine-like head turning towards Heracles and a soft rumble emitting from deep within her chest. He responded softly, though to the Assassin's ears, she could pick up the quiet whispers; " _– Yes, I believe her. I would not exactly call this an alliance, but we all have an unsurprising common enemy. … We are heading towards the psi-gate. Do you …?_ "

After a long moment of their hushed conversation, Heracles spoke up and addressed Jax-Mon. "As you are in no state to continue alone, Rhea will join us. If anything, she believes it will repay the debt she owes you for saving her child. She tells me she is watching you, Wraithmaiden, but she can comprehend honesty when it is given."

Jax-Mon tensed up when the Berserker Queen tucked a hand underneath her and lifted her; only to relax cautiously when she was laid gently upon the Queen's back. She sheathed her katana, and found an easy grip in between the plates of her natural body armour. By the time they arrived at the gate, she figured her psionics would have patched her up by then, but she appreciated the sentiment.

"Then let us continue." the Assassin murmured softly. Exhausted; but _**alive**_.


	54. Apotheosis

Deep within the Shadow Chamber; the prototype Avatar floated suspended in plasma; locked rigidly still and inert within the clear tank. Tubes jutted from out of the medical ports on the back of the stark white suit, spreading outwards to interconnect the lifeless body to the control terminal at the side. It was a different creature than the alpha version XCOM encountered in the field; but it's meaning was no less different. A herald. A new beginning and fresh start.

For Kingsley – a continuation.

Tygan glanced over his datapad tucked into the crook of his arm, monitoring the progress of the fluid restoration. Once the body had been sufficiently hydrated, he moved to transfuse the Blacksite vial into the awaiting port; the final component needed to give the body it's life, once control had been assumed. He twisted the vial into the port until it clicked open; the liquid slowly being drained.

"There. I've infused the effigy with the entirety of our viable Elder DNA." he voiced, catching the attention of the other senior officers in the room. Bradford stood restless besides the stiff Commander; hands pressed into the metal operating bench and gaze never once leaving his closest friend's – acknowledging Tygan's words with a grunt.

Lily flit about the room, checking several monitors and her own control pad held tightly between her hands. Anxiety fluctuated inside of her stomach like a restless swarm of butterflies having been set loose within her; gaze jumping from statistic to statistic and never seemingly entirely satisfied with the result. It hadn't helped that Tygan turned and added quietly;

"Are you certain this is what you want, Commander? The process is irreversible. If we continue through with this.." He wasn't one to trail off or show hesitance, but for the gravity of the situation – the magnitude of the choice, he spared a moment longer. "… It will be permanent. There is no second chance, or reversal."

"I understand the risks, Doctor." Kingsley assured softly. The moment they had received the translated detailing of the process, she rallied her senior officers to conduct the operation. Bradford had been the worst to convince, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one and trying to shake her off of her war path when she was so determined now… would only end up in heart ache.

It wasn't like he was blind to the benefits either. He could see that she wasn't _well_. Her current body was failing her. The war was reaching its zenith into the conflict and it needed – no, demanded – that Kingsley worked at her best. She couldn't do that addled with the additional stress and maladies that natural, old age and bad lifestyle threw at her.

But the concept of it.. what they were doing – it shook Bradford to his core. It wasn't like they were merely replacing an organ or a body part with a prosthetic. It was an entirely new body that offered a whole slew of questions that didn't seem to have a ' _right_ ' or ' _wrong_ ' answer. This was everything that he protested against when Doctor Vahlen came forward with her eccentric and morally questionable ideas.

Even if he knew Kingsley hadn't ever directly been opposed to them. Her methods, maybe. She was the least likely to be sympathetic to the aliens that had killed millions of humans - but there was something rotten about the genetic experimentation Vahlen proposed.

" – Final connection is set. Power levels … adequate. One more look at the buffer." Bradford's thoughts were interrupted by the nervous rambling of Lily. He lifted his gaze, offering her a firm look that bordered on stern warmth.

"Shen, I've watched you go over this thing fifty times, now. Take a breath." he told. Lily froze mid-step; shoulders slumping as she knew that he was right. She spared a moment to catch herself, organize her thoughts and smooth a hand through her hair.

"Then.. everything is ready when you are, Commander." Lily said, turning to face Kingsley. The woman had a mask like a diamond; hard and cut perfected to hide the flaws of her own gnawing anxiety. Dread had long since made its self welcome in her stomach and a companionable fear rested over her head. The palpable weight of the unknown sat just a few inches into the fluid tank and she could do nothing but stare up at the stasis suit mask looming above her.

She knew she had to give her final consent before they could begin, but the anticipation held her back. Kingsley, for all her preaching, was but a human at the end of the day. She did not know what would happen once it began, nor what the ramifications of living the rest of her life in the Avatar's body would entail. Would she be granted the same longevity that the Elders sought to have – doomed to outlive her friends? Would she be accepting a fate worse than the quiet, passing death of natural life she was looking forth to?

Bradford easily recognized when his oldest friend was facing a paralyzing, frozen terror. It squeezed at his heart to see; but he would stand by Kingsley's choice, not tear it down at her lowest. His hand reached for her own. She wouldn't be able to feel it through the mittens of the suit; but he gripped just tight enough she felt the pressure – and it was enough to snap her back into reality.

Wetting her lips uncertainly and exhaling a final breath, Kingsley slowly nodded. "I'm ready, Shen. Tygan. Begin with the operation."

With her hands trembling, Lily swiped the screen of her datapad to bring up the controls, pressing a button in the centre. The stasis suit's mask descended from the crane and neatly clicked into place. A sense of claustrophobia overtook Kingsley as all sound seemed to be muffled except for her increasingly shortening breaths. The mask was tight; enough that every exhale fogged the red visor in front of her.

She tried to focus on the pressure in her hand as Bradford had never once let go. It eased her irrational panic somewhat; gaze watching her vitals scroll by. She had increased heart rate, but not to any dangerous, emergency levels. A spike that evened somewhat – and once it did, Tygan stepped towards his terminal to begin the transfer.

Kingsley felt her body stiffen – then jerk spasmodically; breath hitched in heightened pain as something deep inside of her writhed to _get out._ Her psionics, always so low, humming and present – steadily feasting upon her – shrieked awake at the introduction of the Avatar's markup to her subconscious mind. It felt as though she was an outsider to her own body; viewing herself than experiencing it. She vaguely felt the muscles of her throat contract as a scream ripped through it – and the movements of Tygan, Lily and Bradford were drowned out.

" – _Tygan, you've got to stop the process, she's having a seizure – !"_

" _If we stop now, Bradford, she_ **will** _die! Trust in her, she will have the strength to make it through this!"_

Flashing in front of her consciousness was a figure she did not know or understand, yet at the same time knew with intimate familiarity. Wreathed in purples and red cloth; with four, gangly arms protruding from it's twisted, gnarled body. It reached out to her, extending a hand towards her in a forthcoming gesture.

Kingsley couldn't move her body – it was shaking and thrashing on it's own, trying to reject the process in the only way it knew it could – but in this strange disconnect of herself; she had never felt so.. different. Free of pain, of anguish, of troubling thoughts. She did not know what she extended but she reached for that hand proffered for her. It.. felt correct. Unionizing, for once, her distaff psionics with her being of self. The gifts implanted into her by the Elders now finally within her grasp; accepted wholly.

When she turned to gaze outside of the figure; her point of view had shifted. Red no longer covered her vision; but now translucent blue. Her fingers twitched. There was not much movement to be had in the suspension fluid, but it was enough to gain the attention of that four-armed creature. It drifted over towards her, one of its hands glowing faintly with the raw power she knew was hers.

" – _Synthesis nearing completion. Now, Lily!"_

" _I – I can't! The seizure is lasting way too long, she, her brain will just reject – "_

" _Find some way to stop this and save her, doc!"_

With great effort; Kingsley managed to lift the Avatar's hand – her hand – to press against the glass, reaching physically for the Ethereal that only she could see. That was enough to prompt it to vanish slowly; the psionic power it built up slipping through the window of the tank and traveling up her arms. She observed with morbid, unwavering interest the way it coalesced in her hands and caused the tank to begin to tremble under the force of it. Stronger, it grew, further centralized in her palms, until eventually…

The glass of the tank shattered, sending shards and large chunks flying in all directions. The plasma leaked onto the floor. Without the fluid to support her; Kingsley dropped to the floor; landing on the soles of her feet, the tubes ripping from the medical ports with hissing, released pressure. Her psionics; now no longer restricted by her mortal form, unleashed and ascended into it's true state, bleeding into the room, casting an unearthly, purple-orange glow.

Lily felt the effects immediately; a compounded impact of sorrow hitting her chest and seizing her throat as she stared at the flat-lined vitals. Irrationality was quick to breed from the psionic influence that flexed over them, her hand nursing her lower half of her face in belated horror. Tears formed in her eyes, even as the logical parts of her tried desperately to get her to recognize the success right behind them. But all she could see, all she could focus on was Kingsley's apparent death.

Bradford shook, shoulders trembling in restrained fear as he shook the stasis suit in futility. His voice died in his throat as his mind played tricks on him, forced him to believe that this was his fault. He could have prevented this. He should have been harsher on Kingsley's choice. But he stood by and let her speed herself to this. The sheer amount of guilt cracked him to sob softly, leaning against the body; forehead pressed against her chest.

It seemed Tygan was the only one with the mental fortitude to power through the psionic overcast, settling his datapad onto the side and warily eyeing the mobile Avatar – _Kingsley_. The distinction would take some time for them all to get used to, but his sense of duty enabled him to persevere.

"C-Commander." Even with his resistance, Tygan was begrudgingly aware of his voice breaking; his emotions having risen and hastily shoved down for the sake of dignity. "How… do you feel?"

Kingsley closed her fingers to her palms to create a fist and disperse the excess energy. So much power she had all this time yet been unable to access overflowed her. Enough that her own control was.. sloppy at best, but enough that she managed to reign back the sorrowful Solace she had accidentally cast for her apotheosis. Once the aura had relaxed; Lily slowly came to her wits, furiously rubbing at her eyes. It was only Bradford who seemed hard-pressed to let the fact his friend had died before him pass.

She tested the new body; twitching each individual digit, keeping her senior officers awaiting her response with bated breath. Her head turned left – then right – before returning back to face Tygan. She lifted her hands for the blue mask; unlatching it and pulling it up from to reveal the previously unseen features of the Avatar's face – which, of course, like all things the Elders wanted for their icon, was perfect and symmetrical. Every atom hand-crafted to ensure sublimity at a level that went beyond merely human.

It was an ethereal beauty, so utterly faultless, that it created an uncanny valley that made it obvious that the Avatar was no natural human being. Lily found it difficult to hold her gaze for any length of time. Bradford plainly refused to look upon her face. Tygan masked his discomfort only barely as even he could not shake the strange panic that gripped at his chest that such an unusual sight brought.

"I feel.." Was that her voice? It even made Kingsley stall. It sounded scratchy, as if unused for twenty years. It was the quintessential point between masculinity and femininity. It was neither – both. It was hers. She was unhindered in being able to roll back her shoulders; to touch the roof of her mouth with her tongue or to let her psionics wrap around her in a warm embrace than see her other than a cold, unloving meal. Her eyes – pure purple, with lighter shades for the sclera and a pure white for the pupil, brought her gaze to focus onto Tygan.

" _ **Alive**_."

* * *

As Jax-Mon and the two Alien Rulers advanced further into the psi-blighted territory of the Gateway; the land seemed to shift and change yet again the closer they approached.

The magenta, eldritch flora had bled into biomechanical structures; with the ground and soil being twisted and entangled by tubing and pipes that ran above and underground. From what they could see of the pipes that stuck out; it was lined with a series of filled elerium cores brimming and pulsing with psionic energy, directing it somewhere – likely to the Gate.

What little ground that had not been desiccated had been desecrated by the Chryssalid burrows. The no-man's land of psionic fallout seemed to house the central hub of the intricate underground network that spanned everywhere; yet converged just beneath their feet. Yet, despite the heavy, loping footfalls of the Berserker Queen, no angry, agitated alien came to greet them. Survival drove it's intelligence – and it seemed Rhea had traversed the place long enough that the Chryssalids knew to leave her well enough alone.

As Jax-Mon predicted, her regeneration had since patched the most superfluous injuries sustained by Rhea's assault – leaving her bruised, but fine. If she was to fight, she would prefer to be in better condition, though she doubted there were many threats that would dare try to take on a congregation of Archons, their ruler, the Queen of the Berserkers and a former Chosen.

She lifted herself slightly from the Queen's back to glance over her shoulder, being careful not to jostle the clinging runt beside her. A perceptible hue of pinks and purple tainted the air with how rich the psionic energy amassed around them. To her God-gifted senses, she heard the hum, the low, atmospheric buzz like the crackle of lightning before it struck. The wires and tubes stuck into the Earth leached into what life was left around it and expelling it's deadly fallout. Distant chattering of mandibles had long since migrated since the Queen stomped upon their grounds.

They were utterly alone.

The shadow of the Gateway loomed overhead, placed on an unnatural, biomechanical podium that served as it's foundation. Without even seeing the Gate itself, the sight of the Elders' signature in the shaping of the metal – an amalgamation of machine and biological influence – sickened Jax-Mon to her core. It was not long ago that she was splayed in reverence before her masters upon such markers of their making.

It paled in comparison to the sheer abstract nature of the Gateway.

Smooth, ivory white metal lined it's arching, reaching spires; twisting up to the very heavens. Laced with elerium and thrumming with so much psionic power that she could taste the static brewing on the tip of her tongue. Dark, camouflaged metal spiraled out in intricate patterns to the centre of the gate that Jax-Mon could only guess the significance of. It would have been an eyesore in the backdrop of nature, but in it's irradiated meadow of disgusting metal contraptions; it looked as though it belonged.

"This.. is the Gateway?" Heracles question uncertainly as he lowered from his heightened hover. His eyes, though covered by the elaborate helmet, glanced over the imposing gateway that easily matched their heights. He was beginning to approach it properly when a call from Jax-Mon halted him in his step.

"Don't." she commanded. " – It is already powered by the psi-energy within the land. Should you interact with that gate, you may be hit by it's concentrated energy. A blast that would certainly kill many of those not Gifted."

Rhea huffed out a conversational sound, causing the Archon King to tilt his head.

"… Yes, I'm inclined to agree, Rhea." He turned away from the Gate, drifting towards the pair. " – You inspect it first, Wraithmaiden. You wield psionics, do you not?"

The Assassin was not unwise to the hanging implication. Should anything go wrong, it would be she whom dealt with the consequences. Nevertheless, this was the treatment she expected out of the Rulers that did not fully trust her yet – merely tolerated her presence in their plans. Carefully, she climbed down Rhea's back far enough that she may safely let go, landing perfectly graceful on her feet and disturbing the plant-life underfoot.

With her katana drawn to redirect the energy should the Gate react adversely to her presence, she let the tip of it point the ground; her steps cautious – but not cowardly. She drew her senses inwards to ward against the intensity of energy that was building up; eyes tracing her gaze across every inch of it. She knew enough about the Gate to know it was active and online – but to where? For what purpose?

Jax-Mon stopped before it. This close, she could feel as though the machine breathed, the biomechanical parts shifting within the stark-white plates of it's protective covering. The elerium cores that lined it oscillated between brightly lit and dim; depositing and using power accordingly. Pushing down her own sense of unease and her internal alarm bell ringing a klaxon of warnings, she stepped towards the mass of wiring that cascaded out of the side.

She brought up her katana in parrying defence when the Gateway groaned; flashing a brilliant, blinding purple light over the surrounding area. She had the foresight to protect her eyes beforehand – though she knew her companions were not so lucky, hearing their raised shouts and collective surprise. Narrowing her eyes to slits, she glared as the energy at the epicentre of the Gate meld and blend into a pinhole-wide eye.

Daring to look further in; it spanned the infinite stretches of the Void – a negative space of primordial energy and the grounds of creatures not of this world or the next. Jax-Mon dug her foot into the floor and disengaged backwards once the psionic black hole expanded rapidly, filling the space of the Gate.

"Destroy it – before something comes out!" Heracles called, nursing his head from that flash earlier with his hand, supporting his low-powered flight with the staff into the ground.

"It's no use." she simply replied. "It has already arrived. To destroy the Gateway now would only cause the psionic black hole to destabilize – or worse. Grow out of control."

Indeed, destroying the Gate now would only cause it's localized portal into the void to continue it's expansion – and like a black hole, it would begin drawing everything around it into it's absolute centre. The only way to negate it now was to let it disperse, sending a shockwave of psionic radiation in the process.

But for now – more pressing matters arose when the portal reached it's maximum capacity and something begin to emerge from it's inky depths.

Like the Gate surrounding it, pristine white covered every inch of the creature – impossibly spherical and capable of moving independently when it's plates shifted like a released exhale; granting them a peek of flesh within and circuitry that defied words and knowledge. In the centre rested an orange, digital eye that glanced it's surroundings before diluting when it's gaze fell upon Jax-Mon.

Had she been a second too late, she would not have witnessed the negative space of the Void, but instead an eternal, absolute and final slumber. From her heels she sprung upwards, twisting her body in muscle-defying ways to avoid the blast of the Gatekeeper's apocalyptic gaze as it incinerated the space where she once occupied. There was no way she could carry the momentum in a counter-attack, and with her newfound mortality – Jax-Mon focused on retreating, disengaging backwards the moment she was able to gain her footing.

Combat was no longer a serene dance between man; metal and opponent – but now a dangerous waltz of consequences. Her body, even still with her regeneration, smarted from the Queen's assault. Yet, Jax-Mon did not hold it against her – the thought barely even crossed the surface of her mind when presented with the Gate's relentless guardian.

It's appearance… only assured the Assassin that her decision to clear out the place for XCOM was a wise one after all. It was a marvel and proper acknowledgement should be made to their R&D for managing to advance to magnetic weaponry, but it paled in comparison when faced with such otherworldly threats. Even Heracles and the Archon's plasma staves did little more than scuff the surface of the Gatekeeper's shell – and Rhea's fists were better suited for flesh and bone than ethereal metal.

She noted that the Gatekeeper seemed.. hesitant to push it's offence and she realized begrudgingly it was only defending the territory of the Gateway. She had little idea how the thralls under the Elders controlled took to the news of a Chosen going rogue – and creatures such as the one before her were far too unwieldy for the Elders to hope to control. It recognized her as a Chosen. It also recognized her as a threat. For the first time in it's existence, it perhaps did not know how to proceed.

Jax-Mon solved the dilemma for it as she took this window of opportunity and pressed the attack, slicing forward with a thrust in hopes of piercing it's eye. Despite it's behemoth size, Gatekeepers were unnaturally agile; and it drifted and navigated out of reach.

"Heracles!" the Assassin called – needlessly; as the Archon King took his cue when he saw the Void-born creature rise. The 'feathers' of his wings powered, propelling him in hot pursuit.

He knew he couldn't really harm it – but he and his flock could harass it out of the sky and force it back down. With far better control and skilful manoeuvrability, the King swerved around the Gatekeeper, easily staying out of it's line of sight, forcing it's tracking to contend with him and the other Archons. The moment it tried to focus on one of his guards and power up an attack, Heracles closed the distance and swiped it with his staff.

The force of his blows were always enough to jostle it's course, and to ensure it wasn't going to simply drop out of the sky like a dead weight, it rammed past two of the Archons that were advancing on it, sending them off-kilter. Unlike the Gatekeeper, they corrected themselves and adjusted within seconds.

Heracles and his guardsmen managed to drive it just low enough for Rhea – with a running start – to leap into the air and grapple the spherical shell with her full weight, fingers clawing at the seams of the plate to try and force them apart as she scrabbled for purchase. Whilst she didn't manage to stay on for long, she did ground it to make a better attempt of an attack – namely, pounding the full force of her fists down onto the top of the Gatekeeper and slamming it into the ground.

Jax-Mon returned into the fray, landing the first real damaging swing as her katana pierced all without distinction. It let loose an incomprehensible noise that sounded like inhuman screaming in her mind – all of their minds, judging by the winces of her companions – when her blade sliced across it's plate and revealed part of it's amorphous shape.

Now exposed; the Gatekeeper buffeted her back as the rest of the plates pushed open. Four, sickly looking tentacles snaked out of the openings, it's flesh glowing bright purple as it shaped something unseen by their eyes.

Heracles tried to take this opportunity to angle his staff from the sky and divebomb straight downwards and impale the centre of the Gatekeeper – but found that his staff glanced right off the moment he grew too close. Of course; the creature was wise enough to erect a psionic barrier so it was not truly as vulnerable as it looked.

It launched it's globe of psionic energy forward – Rhea grunting and placing a hand on the ground to steady her as it phased right through her entirety as it hit the ground. At first she chuffed, assuming it had missed – when the groans and psionic screeching of risen Chryssalids told a different story.

"If we deal with the Gatekeeper, it's psionic creations cannot sustain itself without it's power." Jax-Mon swiftly explained as she decapitated the head of a charging Chryssalid. Her eyes scanned everywhere and anywhere, trying to come up with such a solution as Heracles voiced his chagrin.

"Easier said than done. It appears your weapon is only capable of piercing through it's barrier and metal." he swooped down, viciously tearing apart several psionic phantoms and burning off the face another as he righted his jet. "You need to close the distance!"

Jax-Mon huffed, attempting such a thing. Sprinting forth with her weapon stretched, the Gatekeeper reared and sliced the air with it's tendrils, serving as an effective buffer. Her armour weathered the blow – but the psionics it wielded pierced through her and forced her back – signature reeling with the injury. She needed to move faster than it was capable of deflecting and the earth-shattering roar of Rhea beside them all gave her an effective idea.

"Queen Rhea, I need you to throw me." the Assassin requested. The Queen spared her a black look; one of her meaty fists enclosing around the throat of a risen psi-zombie and crushing it back into psi-energy without so much as a thought. Jax-Mon quickly added; " – At the Gatekeeper. I need to breach it's defense."

Snorting loud enough to signal her affirmation; Rhea dropped her shoulder as a frontal guard, charging across the field and knocking everything out of her path. Jax-Mon assisted, meeting her half-way and completely putting faith and trust into the Queen when her large hand enclosed around her waist.

To keep the Gatekeeper occupied and it's attention off from the duo, Heracles and his flock resumed their harassment, alternating between attempting to stab at the tentacles or simply using their metal bodies to crash into it. Their efforts only served to annoy the creature of the void and at least one of the Archons suffered egregious wounds – but they bought enough time.

"Pull back!" Heracles ordered, sending himself and his guards to the skies. As the Gatekeeper contemplated following them; it's senses picked up something closing in on it – and fast.

Rhea, with the time the Archons had bought, put all of her strength into launching Jax-Mon towards it. With her sword outstretched like an extension of her arm, the Assassin cut through it's psionic barrier – cut through it's flesh – and the back of it's exterior, alien shell like a knife to butter. Her God-gifted balance allowed her to land on her feet even as she sailed several feet away from the still floating shell, lips twisting in a sneer as she glared down at the fleshy blob impaled through her katana.

The shell, now no longer piloted, simply followed it's protocols to self destruct. Rhea lifted her arms and closed them together to provide a suitable blast shield for herself and her runt. The Archons simply flew a little higher to avoid being caught in it's radius. But Jax-Mon..

No amount of divine reaction time would have allowed her to get out of there had it not been for Heracles swooping down and collecting her in his arms, lifting her far up in the air and out of harm's way. Her sneer dropped to a cringe as the explosion rocked her senses to white noise; eyes screwing shut and face buried against his chassis to weather out the worst of it. Heracles, thankfully, did not point it out.

As the smoke cleared and all that was left was the creature dead on her blade and the unusable debris of it's shell, Heracles gently moved to set her down on her feet at ground-level.

"You could have left me to die in that and then resumed with your former plans." Jax-Mon bluntly said the moment she was capable of speaking without her voice breaking. She cleared her throat; attention drawn away from him to glance disgusted at her unclean blade.

"You may no longer be a Saint as you claim, Wraithmaiden; and nor do I consider you friend." he said, withdrawing his arms and folding them in front of him. His Archons flanked him, whereas one of them moved to tend the most wounded. " – But I do recognize you as a capable and worthy warrior. If you are to fall in battle, I'd rather not witness it be to something so tactless as an explosion. You've earned, least of all, a warrior's death."

"I see." Her eyes close briefly, before they re-open with her usual grit. "Am I to believe you wish to best me yourself, then?"

A slight smile curved his lips. " – Perhaps. In any case, I am inclined to believe you when you said that we are simply incapable of powering this Gateway ourselves. It looks as though it does not have any.. power left."

Indeed, casting her gaze towards it, the Gateway now stood deactivated and inert. _Not broken_ , she almost said, but it may have been better to have the Rulers believe that for now. It was ripe for anyone's taking, and she planned that to be XCOM's once they dealt with the looming, impending doom of her wayward brother.

Jax-Mon considered intercepting him before he had a chance to strike at them, but…

Rhea grunted something, scuffing the ground with her paw and intently looking towards Heracles. They exchanged some silent words, before the Archon King slowly nodded and inclined his head to the Assassin.

"Queen Rhea wonders what is your plan going forward, Wraithmaiden, and if that goal still aligns with our own."

… but Jax-Mon believed that XCOM were more than capable of fending Dhag-Mai off. Shaking herself out of her deep thoughts, the Assassin removed the creature from her katana and sheathed it.

"I make for the city centre. There is a man there that is surrounded by all fronts – if I am able to contact him before ADVENT close in on him, I'll gain the information we need to drive the final nail in the Elders' coffin, or at least align it for the hammer of the Resistance to slam down upon it." she said.

"We are on the precipice of something new, monarchs. If you wish to embrace it, then you will come with me. Dismiss this as an alliance all you want, but.." She looks at them meaningfully. She knew one fight wouldn't win them to her side or whatever they believed she thought, but she was not blind to how well they fought together. In a matter of survival – they had a better chance staying as they were.

Rhea and Heracles seemed to consider this logic as well. The former only wanted what was best for her child, and Jax-Mon proven twice over to be a reliable leader and a relentless guardian. As for the latter, he'd already been impressed by her diplomacy and her skill. Her words could not have been any more truthful:

It was certainly the dawn of something _**new**_.


End file.
